


In the Wind

by Wanderer



Series: The Night of the Secret [3]
Category: Wild Wild West (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship/Love, M/M, Male Slash, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-11
Updated: 2013-09-11
Packaged: 2017-12-26 06:47:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/962853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wanderer/pseuds/Wanderer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dreams are dreamed, riddles are told, and answers are found.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Wind

In the Wind

 

One evening in late September I rode into a dusty little town.  A nowhere place at the edge of the Rockies called Desolation, Colorado.  Whoever named it sure got that right, I thought wryly.  The horses tied up in front of the local saloon looked half-starved, and the buildings were all shabby, and poorly built.  They leaned like the least gust of wind would topple them over.  Which seemed likely, because there was a wind blowing.   An icy one.   Even though it was just September, I knew winter sometimes came early in these parts.  It sure felt like it might snow that night.   As I rode in, I saw a small, mangy-looking dog with its ribs sticking out, slink around a corner.  He was probably just trying to get out of the wind.

  
I knew what that felt like.  I hadn’t felt warm inside for a long time now. 

  
Almost two years had gone by, and I still hadn’t found Artie.

  
I huddled deeper into my coat, shivering in spite of myself.  This was a poor excuse for a town, but I had to stop here.  I’d been in the saddle for so many long days by then, I stank of horse and sweat, and my mouth was parched and dry.  It’d been days since I could take a proper bath, or refill my canteen. 

  
I already knew that I wouldn’t find Artie here.  My gregarious, sophisticated friend would never settle in such a tiny, hardscrabble little town.  No.  Desolation, Colorado wasn’t Artie’s kind of place at all.  Mine either, if it came to that.  But I didn’t intend to look for him here.  Desolation was just a place I meant to pass through, a stop on the way to Denver.  I’d gotten a telegraph a week ago in Durango, from one of Colonel Richmond’s agents in Denver.  He’d heard of an actor there who matched Artie’s description.  I was heading there to look him over.

  
It might be Artie – or that actor could be someone else entirely.  Another such lead had just taken me to Durango.  But like all the others, it hadn’t panned out.  The man I tracked down there was just another tall, dark, rakish-looking actor named Robert Granger.  Like most of the other actors I’d checked out, he’d claimed that he’d never even heard of Artemus Gordon.  I wondered if that was true or not.  I’d suspected for awhile now that Artie’s friends in the theater might be hiding him, or at least denying any knowledge of him and his current whereabouts.  If they were, it wouldn’t make my search any easier.  But it wouldn’t stop me, either.  Granger wasn’t the first false trail I’ve followed, or even the twentieth; and he probably wouldn’t be the last.  I’d been through more than thirty towns in six states in the last eighteen months.  I’d lost count of them all, but in every one, I’d checked out tall actors who hadn’t turned out to be Artie. 

  
I told myself that Denver would be different.  I’d always meant to go there to look for Artie anyway, since it was high on my list of places where he might choose to stay.  I’d just gotten sidetracked along the way. 

  
Last winter had been so cold that I’d been unable to travel through the deep snows, so I’d worked on a ranch for a few months to while away the time ‘till they cleared.  Then I’d gone back to searching, but after checking out a few more false leads, I’d come down with a fever that laid me up for almost a month.  When I finally got over it, I’d headed northwest again, towards Colorado.  But a few months later, back in June, Flame had gotten bitten in the leg by a rattler he’d surprised along a sun-baked trail in New Mexico.  I could’ve bought another horse and left him behind, but we’d been through so much together by that time, and I’d taught him so much that I couldn’t bear to.  Besides, he was a good horse.  I couldn’t abandon him when he was hurt.  He was also my last link to Artie.  So I’d found a good horse doctor and nursed him through it instead, until his limp finally disappeared and we could get on our way again.  That took another three weeks.

  
With all that, it’d taken me much longer than it should have, to get to Colorado.  I tried to tell myself that it didn’t matter, that I still had a better chance of finding Artie in Denver.  But I’d been looking for so long without finding so much as a trace of him, that I was starting to get a bit discouraged again.  I wasn’t thinking of giving up, but I was feeling down and frustrated.  I knew Artie would be damn hard to track down before I ever started looking for him, but I’d begun to think he might prove impossible to find.  He’d always been an expert at disguises, at blending in.  Now I knew how good he was at disappearing.  Artie was so damn smart.  Other than Dr. Loveless, he was probably the smartest man I ever met.  With his acting background, he could turn himself into anyone, and he didn’t want me to find him.  So chances weren’t high that I ever would.

  
But I told myself for the thousandth time, I couldn’t let that stop me.  I’d done a lot of things that people said were impossible.  This was just one more.  I’d made a vow to myself that I’d never give up.  If it took the rest of my damn life, I was going to find Artemus Gordon, and make him tell me why he took off like that.  And tell him I was sorry, because I’d had a hand in driving him away.

  
If Artie was still working as an actor, that is.

  
If he’d still talk to me. 

  
And if he were still alive.

  
That was a lot of if’s, I knew.  And that last one --the idea that Artie might be lying dead somewhere, in some no-name town like this or worse, out on a lonely trail -- haunted me.  I tried to sneer it away.  Told myself that was a stupid, even maudlin idea, worthy of some cheap melodrama.  It didn’t help.  I still woke cold and shaking sometimes, from dreams where Artie died because something awful happened to him after I drove him out.  That was a nightmare I couldn’t shake.

  
It didn’t help knowing my search was a thankless one, that Artie didn’t want me to look for him.  He’d taken off in the dark, sold his horse and disappeared after all; hardly the actions of a man who wanted his partner to come after him.  Artie had done everything he could, and probably more that I didn’t even know about, to throw me off of his trail.  Which meant that he might be pretty upset if I ever found him.  Colonel Richmond would be pleased, but not Artie. 

  
Still, I couldn’t leave it alone. 

  
I’d gone into Limbo once, into another dimension to bring my partner back.  So no matter how tired I was now, or how many months or even years it might take, I wouldn’t stop looking.  I’d ride to the ends of the earth if I had to, to find Artie again. 

  
***************************************************************************************

  
Sometimes now, when I woke in the morning hungover and a bit befuddled, I wasn’t quite sure who I was.  I’d taken to wearing so many masks, so many faces lately, putting them on and taking them off so quickly…   Sometimes several in a single day, as if I could somehow find meaning in it somewhere, or some small measure of happiness, if I only found the right face to wear.  But the faces were starting to blur now.  For the first time in my life, the fun had started to vanish from acting.  I was finding it harder to play my roles, to find the energy to fuel the illusions that used to come to me effortlessly.

  
That had never happened to me before.

  
Before I lost –

  
No!  I groaned and heaved myself out of bed, stubbornly resistant.  For once, I was _not_ going to start the morning that way, I told myself.  I wasn’t even going to think of his name.  I felt bad enough already.

  
**************************************************************************************

  
I pulled my horse up in front of Desolation’s one and only hotel.  Like the rest of the town, it wasn’t much.  Still I hoped against hope that it’d have a room I could rent for the night, so I wouldn’t have to sleep out in the cold.  I didn’t care if I had to share a bed.  I was tired and hungry, I needed a bath, and I wanted to get in out of the cold, which gave signs of becoming bitter later on.

  
_Another winter without Artie_.  The thought cut through me, colder even than the wind. 

  
When I swung down out of the saddle, my legs went weak and I swayed for a second.  I clutched at my stirrup, wondering dully what was wrong.  Then I remembered -- it’d been awhile since I ate, too.  I kept forgetting to do that, lately.  Food just didn’t seem to matter much anymore.  All that mattered was finding Artie.

  
I hung my head a bit, held onto my stirrup and waited till the dizziness passed.

  
Once my head stopped spinning, without warning, a memory rose up and took hold of me, eclipsing the sorry street around me.  A memory of summer.  I saw Artie again, the way he looked when he came back from his last vacation in San Francisco.  Tall and handsome in his brown buckskin jacket and hat, his dark eyes filled with mischief and affection. 

  
Longing caught at my heart, so powerfully that I couldn’t deny it.  My eyes drifted closed, and I let the vision linger. 

  
Why James, Artie said again, in my memory.  What’s this?  Were things that boring in my absence, that you actually found time to miss me?  Yes, I answered, and hugged him.  Then Artie smiled at me, so joyously that I felt like I’d hung the moon.

  
For a moment, the memory was so vivid that I could almost feel the warmth of his arms around me.  I kept my eyes tightly closed, trying hard to hold onto it.  But after a time, despite my fierce hold, it slipped away and I became aware of the bitter wind biting into my exposed skin with icy fingers.  I’d grown cold, standing there in the street dreaming; and I was alone again.

  
_Jesus God, but I miss you, Artie_.

  
I opened my eyes then, before sadness could overwhelm me.  But something stung them, making them burn, blinding me.  I swiped at them with my coat sleeve, telling myself it was just the wind.  Christ, what was wrong with me?  Here I was, a former soldier and Secret Service agent, standing in the middle of the street, about to weep like a girl.  Artie would never believe it.  I shook my head, trying to master myself.  But I fairly ached for the sound of his voice, for his smile, for his big, warm presence beside me. 

  
It was absurd, I knew.  Self pitying and no doubt maudlin.  But I felt… abandoned.  Like some orphaned child, wandering a cold world where no one cared for me.  Rationally, I knew that wasn’t true.  I still had friends like Colonel Richmond, and other officers who’d survived the war.  But no one who was as close to me as Artie had been.  And I hadn’t spoken to a friend since Artie had left.  Only strangers, who were never him.

  
I hadn’t felt this alone since I left home when I was young.  There was nothing for me there.  After my mother died, nursing me when I had a fever, my father turned cold.  I was only six, but he blamed me for her death.  After that, I could never do anything right in his eyes.  And the way he’d started drinking didn’t help matters.  No matter what I did, no matter how hard I tried to please him, he cursed and beat me.  By the time I was fifteen, I knew that was never going to change.  So I took off and made my own way.  When the war broke out, I enlisted and never looked back.  But after the slaughter at Shiloh, something inside of me broke.  Part of me went numb and cold.  After that, I told myself that I didn’t really need anyone.  I wouldn’t let myself.  It made me too vulnerable.  I worked hard at being self sufficient.  Maybe too hard.  Maybe that’s why I never knew how much I’d come to need Artie, until it was too late. 

  
That thought turned me colder inside than the wind could ever do.  God, please.  Don’t let it be too late.  Even if I never find him, please keep Artie safe, I thought.

  
I’d never been much of a praying man, not even before the war.  My father turned me against religion, and the war made me doubt if God even existed.  Still, though I’d never told anyone, I’d prayed sometimes when I was a soldier.  We all did.  The war was enough to terrify anyone.  Shiloh had nearly broken me.  It’d been so beautiful there, the fields green with spring and flowers everywhere…  Flower petals had floated down during the battle, coating the bodies of the dead and wounded.  Somehow, their beauty had made all the death seem worse.  The only thing I remember praying there was that the men in my company had died quickly.  But I’ve prayed more than once since Artie took off.  Just in case there actually was someone up there listening, I asked Him to take care of the man who means more to me than anyone else ever did.  I never had another friend like Artemus Gordon in my whole life.  Hell, I’d never known anyone even remotely like him.  I’d do a helluva lot more than pray to a God I wasn’t sure of, to keep Artie safe. 

  
I took an unsteady breath, let go of my stirrup and my painful memories, and fiddled with my saddlebags.  I needed to hide my face for a minute, in case anyone was watching.  I swallowed hard and blinked furiously.  I had to get a hold of myself.  I couldn’t go into that hotel looking like this.

  
By the time the stableboy finally came out to take my horse, I managed to look like a man again, instead of some weepy woman.  But only just.

  
*****************************************************************************************

  
I ran a hand through my hair wearily.  Where was I?  Uh….  Oh yes, Denver.  And who was I?  Uhh – oh, Thurston Halder, right.  The doctor from Albuquerque, having a bit of a lark while his wife waited patiently back at home.  I yawned.  Not really a very dashing role.  I’d have to find something – some _one_ better, to be today.  Someone colorful, someone interesting.  An artist perhaps...

  
I stumbled over to my washbasin to splash my face, trying to keep my thoughts focused on dreaming up a new identity.  But something was stirring inside me, pressing hard against my breastbone, demanding to be let out.  I pressed my hands to my chest, rubbed at the sore spot that’d taken up residence there, and sighed.  All right, I told it wearily, and let the thought slip its bonds.

  
Where is James, and what is he doing?  Is he all right?

  
Just how many long years would it be, I wondered, before that was the first thought I’d have every morning, and the last one at the end of every night?  It was a question with no answer, but it still rang through me with more force than anything else in my life.

  
“Stop being maudlin,” I said out loud, “and get dressed.”

  
For want of a better idea, I did.  But I didn’t know how to banish the bleakness that’d hung over me since I woke.

  
For a long time now, I’d dealt with that feeling by simply getting on my horse and going somewhere else.  But somehow, that morning, the thought of riding on to yet one more town seemed unbearable. 

  
I need to stop, I thought suddenly.  I need to find a place to settle down.  Soon, or I never will…

 

  
**************************************************************************

 

  
I had the good luck to get a room to myself that night, at the hotel in Desolation.  Though it was small and shabby, it was still better than being out in the wind and the snow I’d sensed threatening earlier.  After I shaved and took a bath, I felt a little better, but my belly rumbled with hunger.  I decided to go to a saloon I’d spotted nearby, to get supper and a whiskey before I went to bed.  It wasn’t that I wasn’t tired enough to sleep.  I was still exhausted.  But I’d been having strange dreams, these past few months.  Dreams about Artie and me, that –

  
I thought maybe if I had a good meal and a drink first, I could sleep without dreaming tonight.  I told myself that’s what I wanted.  So I pulled up my collar against the cold, and headed down the street.  It’d gotten dark and started to snow, just like I’d thought it would.  The saloons in this town were probably awful, and the liquor worse, but I was feeling a bit desperate.  I wasn’t just hungry, I was bone weary, and lonely too.  For a minute, I wondered if I should try a calico girl.  I hadn’t had a woman … in a long time.  I searched my memory, a little surprised by that.  I’d never denied myself sex, not since I first discovered the joy to be found between a woman’s thighs.  But I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d taken one, or the girl’s face.  Strange – I usually never went for a week without sex, but lately, I couldn’t even remember wanting it. 

  
I told myself uneasily that maybe that was my problem.  I just needed a woman.  And maybe if I had one, those odd dreams would stop.

  
But a little voice in my head whispered, _Are you sure you want them to?_

  
The flicker of desire I’d felt somehow ebbed at that. 

  
Desolation was such a small, mean, godforsaken place.  The women here were probably as bad as the rotgut their saloons would probably serve up in place of decent whiskey.  I’d be risking getting the clap or something worse, if I went upstairs with one.  It wouldn’t be worth the bit of pleasure I’d get out of it. 

  
Sighing to myself, I turned a corner, heading for the saloon anyway.  Even if I wasn’t going to sample the local talent,

  
I still wanted dinner and a drink, though maybe I’d stick to beer. 

  
I finished supper, which wasn’t very tasty but did quell my hunger.  Thinking longingly of Artie’s cooking, I started to walk back to my hotel in the growing dark.  I was bone tired, and couldn’t wait to fall into the bed waiting for me there.  But then I heard an odd noise from up ahead.  It sounded like the thud of boots into flesh.  My head came up instantly, my weariness forgotten.  Light spilled out into the street from open saloon doors further up the street.  In its ruddy glow I saw a large man bent over what looked like a small horse or pony.  It lay on its side in front of the saloon, in the gently falling snow.  The man was kicking it and cursing.  The cold wind snatched his words away at this distance, but they didn’t matter. 

  
I’ve loved animals all my life.  Dogs, cats, horses, birds -- animals of all kinds.  They were all beautiful, all interesting and I’ve never been able to abide anyone hurting one.  I knew most folks thought differently about it.  The Church taught that all God’s creatures were under Man’s dominion, made for men to use or abuse as we chose.  I disagreed. 

  
Before I knew it, anger seized me and I was running toward the big man, yelling, “You!  Stop it!”

  
The big man lifted his head, and quit kicking the horse as I ran up to him.  He was ugly, with a dirty face and an unkempt, scraggly beard.  He held a whip in his right hand.  “Who the hell are you?” he snarled when I got close.  His face, which was already twisted with anger, got even redder and nastier looking.  “Sticking your nose in my business –”

  
“Shut up,” I said curtly, wrinkling my nose in disgust.  The big lout smelled worse than I had when I got to Desolation, though I’d been riding hard and hadn’t bathed for several days.  Ignoring him for a minute, I dropped lightly down off the boardwalk into the street beside him.  While he ranted, I dropped to my knees beside his horse.  Or what I’d thought was a horse.  Close up, I could see that it was really a donkey, overburdened with several large, heavy packs, and far too thin.  He’d been beaten and starved, and forced to carry more than he could handle.  He must’ve finally dropped in his tracks, from sheer exhaustion.  His thin sides were heaving, his big dark eyes rolling with distress as he tried and failed to get up again.  As I reached out to pet his muzzle to try to calm him, the donkey pulled its head away in fear.  The anger that’d been growing in me got even hotter.  The big idiot who owned it had half killed the poor beast, and beaten it so badly that it’d grown afraid of a human’s touch. 

  
I crooned to the little donkey.  “Shh, little fella.  It’s all right, I’m not gonna hurt you,” I said softly.  It subsided with a sad whimper.  I let it sniff my hand, then softly stroked its shaking nose.  It was cut and bloodied, and I recognized the welts that striped it.  They were whip lashes.  When I saw that, my anger turned to rage.  Ever since I’d gotten twenty lashes myself years ago on Devil’s Island, rescuing a fellow Secret Service agent, I’d had a keen empathy for anyone – or anything – who’d been cruelly lashed.

  
The donkey’s owner, who looked like some sort of peddler, lifted a meaty fist and bent over me menacingly.  He shoved hard at my shoulder with the whip handle, trying to push me away from his fallen beast.  “Get your fuckin’ hands off my donkey!” he yelled.  “What are you, some kinda horse thief?”

  
I didn’t say a word.  I didn’t even look at him.  I just kept stroking the still trembling donkey, which shook with fear whenever the peddler shouted.  “Shh, shh,” I soothed.  “It’ll be okay,” I said grimly.   “I promise.”

  
“ _Answer me, damn you_!” the idiot looming over me shouted.  He poked me even harder with the handle of his whip.

  
I ignored him again, deliberately.  I already knew what was going to happen.  All I had to do was keep on ignoring him and he’d explode and give me an excuse, and the opening I needed.  It didn’t take long.  A few seconds later, the big idiot bellowed with rage and aimed a kick at my head.  I dodged it, but not quite fast enough.  I’d been distracted by his donkey’s plight, and his boot skidded across the top of my shoulder in a painful scrape.  My rage, which had grown hotter when I saw the damage he’d done to the donkey, turned to pure ice at that.  I hadn’t started this, but by God, I’d finish it.  I flowed to my feet and turned on him.

  
He raised the whip handle, and tried to club me in the head with it.  Without a word, I exploded.

  
I don’t remember the next few minutes very clearly.  It was a whirl of kicks and blows; and I was the whirlwind.    

  
The next thing I remember, three men had grabbed me from behind and wrestled me away from the peddler, and down onto my back on the boardwalk.  One of them sat on my legs, the better to hold me down.  The other two held my arms. I let them, while I caught my breath and took stock of the situation.  I wasn’t hurt, I wasn’t even breathing hard.  I doubted that the peddler had landed more than one significant blow during the fight.  Big as he was, he hadn’t been much of a challenge for a man like me.  I could’ve thrown off the three men who’d stepped in to stop me, too.  But I let them pull me off him because by that time, I’d already laid the big, stinky peddler out, flat on his back in the street.  Enjoyable though the fight had been, I didn’t really need to inflict any more damage on him.  He wasn’t going to hurt that donkey, or anyone else, for a long time.  I lifted my head a little and squinted at him.  He was unconscious, his face was bloodied, and one arm lay at an odd angle.  Broken, I suspected.  

  
_Good_ , I thought savagely.  For a second, in the raw heat of my rage, I almost hoped that I’d killed him.  I wasn’t really sure that I hadn’t. 

  
“It’s all right,” I told the men holding me down.  “I’m done.  Let me up.”  I watched the snow fall on that damn peddler’s face for a minute and tried to relax, so they’d know it was safe to let me go.  It wasn’t easy, though, to shake off a towering rage like that.  My heart was still pounding, and my hands stung from the blows I’d dealt.  I took deep breaths and waited for my heart to stop thundering in my chest.

  
But the men holding me didn’t let go.  “It’s over,” I repeated impatiently.  “Let go!  Let me up.”

  
The men holding onto me ignored that.  Someone behind me sighed and said, “Go see if the other one’s still breathin’, Clem.”

  
Clem, who was tall and skinny, stepped down into the street to check out the fallen peddler.  “Lordy,” I heard him say.  “He’s breathin’ all right, but I think he broke his nose, _and_ his arm.”

  
I grinned.

  
One of the men holding me asked, “What’s your problem, mister?”

  
I quit smiling.  “He was beating that donkey.  Kicking it when it was already down.  And it’s completely overloaded, too.  He’s beaten and starved it until it can hardly walk, but he’s still got it laden down with enough packs for three donkeys.”

  
The men fell quiet for a minute, considering the fallen donkey.  “Well.  Is it his donkey?” one of them asked.

  
“Far as I know,” I answered, gritting my teeth.  I knew what he was implying. 

  
“Then I guess he’s got the right,” he said sternly.

  
_No one’s got the right_ , I thought darkly.  Still, I’d paid the man back for his cruelty now.  The towering rage that’d filled me had ebbed, and I could think again.  “If you say so,” I said quietly _._ No point arguing, I wasn’t going to change his mind and I didn’t care to.  “You can let me up now.  It’s over,” I said for the third time, to reassure my captors that I wasn’t going to go for the fallen man again. 

  
They finally let go of me.  I got to my feet, brushed at my jacket and swore when I found dark wet stains on my sleeve.  It was splashed with the lout’s blood.  “Damn it.”  I knew I’d probably never get the stains out – and I liked that jacket, too. 

  
The men who’d been holding onto me shifted a little on their feet, shooting worried glances back and forth.  I guess my swearing must’ve made them uneasy; or maybe it was my dark expression.  “You sure you’re done with him?” Clem asked.  “Or do we need to go get the Sheriff?”  He hooked a thumb at the saloon. 

  
I guessed that the Sheriff was in there, drinking.  I was surprised a town so small even had one.  I shook my head.  I’d’ve loved to swear out a complaint to get that ass of a peddler put behind bars, but there was no way I could.  The man who’d spoken up earlier was right.  There was no law against what the peddler had done.  He could beat his donkey, even kill it if he chose to.  I wouldn’t get anywhere with the law, and trying it would only delay me.  I couldn’t afford that.  I needed to move on tomorrow morning.  I was heading for Denver to search for another actor who might be Artie; and if I stayed here for even a few days, there was a chance that man might disappear.

  
“No.  I told you, I’m done,” I said shortly.  And I was – done beating the peddler, anyway.

  
But I had another plan, that I hadn’t even gotten started on yet.

  
I stepped back down into the street. 

  
“Hey!”  One of the three men who’d stopped the fight called out.  “I thought you said you were done with him, mister!”

  
“I am,” I called back calmly.  “But I’m not done with his donkey,” I said.  I pulled all the heavy packs off of the donkey, piled them next to the unconscious peddler, and took some money out of my pocket.  “There’s five dollars here,” I said, holding up the money so they could all see it.  I’d brought some extra money along, just in case I decided to play poker at the saloon.  But I’d found a better use for it.  “That’s more than this animal is worth.  You’re my witnesses.  I’m paying this jerk for it, so now this donkey’s mine.”

  
I shoved the money into the peddler’s grimy shirt pocket.   Chances were high that someone would steal it before the man woke up.  I didn’t care.  In fact, I kind of hoped someone would.  I didn’t really need the money, and it would serve the brute I’d knocked out right, for treating a helpless animal like that.

  
The men watching just shrugged.  “Guess so.”  None of them seemed inclined to dispute me.  Now that the fight was over, I could tell they’d already grown bored with the incident.  They’d probably been gambling or drinking in the saloon when the fight started, and only come out to see what all the shouting was about.  They couldn’t have cared less who owned the donkey; and since I’d paid his owner for him, and I hadn’t murdered the man after all, they had no reason to call the Sheriff.  I memorized their faces anyway, just in case anyone came asking questions about it later; though I doubted they would.

  
Everyone watching drifted away then.  I petted the trembling donkey for a while, murmuring to it and stroking it gently until it stopped shaking.  Then I went into the saloon for some water.  When I came out, I urged the donkey to its feet and watched while it drank, timidly at first, then noisily and gratefully from the tin plate I’d borrowed.  It was thin and covered with sores, and its back was bent from carrying loads that were too heavy.  But donkeys are tough, and it was still young.  I figured it wouldn’t die.  It just needed some time and gentle care, to get its strength back.

  
It would get that chance now.  But it’d mean I’d have to change my plans a little.  I wasn’t worried about the peddler.  He  was no match for me.  Besides, he was too badly injured to come after me now, even if he had been.  I hadn’t heard anyone offer to call a doctor for him, either.  Maybe the men who’d intervened in our fight weren’t any fonder of cruel, stinky peddlers than I was.  In any case, the peddler would be laid up in town for some time.  And I was leaving town, hopefully tomorrow.

  
If I could’ve found him a good home, I’d’ve left the little donkey with someone in Desolation.  But as I watched him drink, I realized I couldn’t risk it.  I knew the peddler’s type.  Once he recovered, he’d look everywhere for me, to try to take revenge for the beating I’d given him.  And while he posed no threat to me, he did to his helpless donkey.  If that peddler ever got his filthy hands on the donkey again, I had no doubt he’d kill it.  I’d have to take the animal with me when I left, to protect him. 

  
I’d planned to leave town at first light, but after rescuing the little donkey, I changed my plans.  The poor little guy would need food and rest, and some treatment for his lashes before I could hit the trail again. Though I’d gotten him up on his feet, he was far too thin to walk far, and hurt and exhausted to boot.  He wouldn’t be in any shape to travel for miles tomorrow.  It might take several days to get him rested and fed enough to do that.

  
I waited till the donkey had drunk its fill, then I caught its bridle.  “Come on, little fella,” I said quietly.  “We’ll put you in the livery stable tonight, where it’s quiet and warm, so you can get some hay to eat.  Then you can rest.  And when you feel better, we’ll head outta here.”  I clucked softly to him, coaxing him forward gently with his lead rope while I talked.  His first steps faltered, and he shook.  But then he seemed to realize that he’d shed his huge load.  He nickered a little, lifted his head a bit, and then started tottering slowly along behind me.  After a few minutes, his gait firmed up to something resembling a normal walk.

  
“You’re one tough little fella, aren’t you?”  I smiled at him, pleased.

  
I held out my hand slowly and let him sniff it, so he’d get to know my scent.  “That’s a good boy,” I said, careful to keep my voice low and soft.  Keeping my hands where he could see them, I reached out slowly to pet his neck as I led him towards the livery stable.  He shied, trembling, and tried to pull away, his eyes rolling in fear.  I had to bite back a surge of anger at that damn peddler.  I swear, if the fool had been near enough to kick again, I’d’ve done it.  The goddamn brute had terrorized this poor animal to the point where he thought any man’s touch meant pain.  But I needed to keep the donkey calm, so I stifled my anger and stopped.  I put some slack in the donkey’s lead rope, so he wouldn’t feel like I was pulling him or trying to force him at all.  Then I stood still and just talked to him softly for awhile.  It was still snowing, and the temperature was dropping rapidly.  I could feel the chill even through my winter coat.  Strangely, though, I found I didn’t care.  At that moment, nothing seemed more important than letting the little fella know he had a new owner now, who wasn’t going to hurt him. 

  
“It’s all right, little fella,” I said quietly.  “It’s all right now.  No one’s going to hurt you any more.  I promise you that,” I swore, and I meant it.  I reached out slowly to touch his neck again, and that time, he let me.  I kept the touch feather light, and carefully avoided his lashes.  “That’s it.  Good boy.  Smart boy,” I crooned softly, smiling. 

  
The fact that he’d trusted me so readily proved that he was a sweet-natured beast.  I damned the peddler to hell in my head, for treating him so badly.  Some men were worse than animals.  “You know a friend when you see one, don’t you?” I told him.  “Come on now.  Let’s get you to that nice, warm livery stable.”

  
*************************************************************************

  
I’d told myself I’d been living the high life these past months.  Doing just what I pleased, being whoever I pleased, and answering to no one.  Drifting wherever the wind, or my mood took me.  I’d told myself that it was the perfect life for an actor.  Apparently, that had just been one more of my lies.  Because the thought of drifting endlessly like this, with no moor, no anchor, no home or friends, suddenly felt like being condemned to live in perpetual darkness.

  
I blinked at myself in the mirror.  For a man who’s been having such fun, you don’t look very good, old son, I thought wryly.  For a man playing a doctor, you look positively ghastly. 

  
I tried to smile at my own joke, but it was all too true.  I had dark circles under my eyes, and I’d lost weight.  My clothes were starting to hang on me a bit.  How did that happen? I wondered.  I realized, with a dim sense of surprise, that I’d probably been drinking more than I’d been eating, lately.  Well.  That probably had to stop, too.

  
How long had it been? I wondered suddenly.  I hadn’t let myself think about it before, but suddenly it seemed important to know just how long I’d been wandering.  I summoned today’s date up from memory, did a bit of mental calculation, and shook my head.  Thirteen months.  It’d been more than a year since I’d left the Secret Service – and Jim.

  
Thirteen months was a long time; and the life I’d been living since had ceased to please.  It had, in fact, become a bit dangerous – to my state of mind, and maybe even my health.  I needed to make a change.  The question was, how.

  
I could stay here.

  
A simple solution, to be sure.  I turned the thought over in my head for a time.  Settling anywhere had never felt right before, but no immediate objections came to mind this time.  In fact, knowing I wouldn’t have to get on my horse and ride out of town yet one more time gave me  a distinct sense of relief. 

  
So I considered Denver for awhile.  It was probably as good a place as any to hang my hat in.  It was a bustling city, and growing rapidly.  It already had lots of opera houses and bands, a good library, and nice parks to stroll in.  I’d even heard talk of plans for a symphony.  I had some friends here, good friends who could be counted on not to tell anyone that I was here.  And I wasn’t well known to anyone outside of that small circle.  I could change my name one last time, and start over without too much trouble.  The Rockies were beautiful, and I’d always loved the glorious colors that aspen trees turned in the fall.

  
All right then, I told myself.  It’s settled.  I’ll invent myself another name, one that I’ll keep, and here I’ll stay.  At least for a time.  If I decide I don’t like it, then I’ll move on again.  But for now…

 

  
***************************************************************************************

  
It was really late before I finally made it into bed.  The livery stable had long since been closed for the night by the time I got there, so I’d had to roust out the stable boy, who wasn’t happy about it.  But I’d made sure the little donkey was safely tucked into a warm stall with plenty of hay and some salve rubbed into his sores for good measure, before I left.  I tipped the stable boy a bit, since I’d woke him up.  Then I finally went back to my hotel, without the drink I’d set out to get earlier. 

  
By then, I was too tired to go back to the saloon for it.  All I wanted to do was sleep.  I’d realized by then that the peddler must’ve gotten in a lick to my left shoulder before I laid him out, because it was sore.  It didn’t matter much though, since that wasn’t my gun hand.  Still, I sighed when I finally made it to my room and stripped down.

  
It’d been a long day.

  
But I didn’t regret the fight, or coming across the little donkey like I had.  I was glad I’d gotten him away from that bastard.  As soon as the donkey was fed and rested and able to go on, I decided I’d find a new home for him in the first small town I came to, on my way to Denver.  I’d ask around at the livery stable there, about a farmer who was good to his animals and needed a donkey.  There were always plenty of those around.  I’d give the donkey to him and be on my way to Denver again, to search for Artie.

  
The donkey’s future decided on, I finally tumbled into bed.  I figured I was so tired, I probably wouldn’t even dream.

  
I was wrong.

  
I fell asleep right away, but it wasn’t dreamless.

  
I dreamed I was back in the livery stable, looking at the donkey I’d just rescued.  Only this time, Artie was with me. 

  
He ran his big hands over the little donkey’s back, and clucked over the state he was in.  “James my boy, you did the right thing, taking him from that brute,” he said.  He shook his head sympathetically.  “This poor creature…  I have just the thing for his lashes.”  Artie took a little metal tin out of his pocket.  It must’ve contained one of his many medicinal salves, for when he rubbed it into the wounds on the donkey’s back and nose, he didn’t protest. 

  
“Thanks, Artie,” I smiled.  But even in my dream, I knew something wasn’t right.  Something about Artie…  “Where’ve you been, partner?” I asked.  I knew he’d been away, I just couldn’t remember where.

  
Artie just shrugged mysteriously.  “Oh, here and there.  But I haven’t forgotten you, James.” 

  
I smiled at him, glad to hear that.

  
But Artie fixed me with a serious look.  “What’ve you been up to?”

  
I shrugged.

  
Artie’s gaze grew piercing.  “You’ve been getting into a lot of fights lately, haven’t you?”

  
I shrugged again, a bit annoyed at that.  “No more than usual.”

  
Artie cocked his head with a knowing look.  “I don’t think that’s true.”

  
But before I could get mad at him for implying that I’d lied, Artie left the donkey, came over and put a hand on my shoulder.  “Are you lonely, James?” he asked softly.

  
He’d asked me that before in my dreams.  I never told him the truth about that either; but I didn’t have to.  I just looked at him, and it was like he already knew. 

  
“There’s no need,” Artie whispered.  His dark eyes warmed and held mine, and I couldn’t look away.  He was so gentle, and his hands…  Somehow, almost without my noticing, Artie had lifted his hands to my face.  They were warm and strong, and something inside me ached strangely at his touch.  When I didn’t push him away, Artie bent forward.

  
He’s going to _kiss_ me, I thought.  But I was no longer surprised by that, and I didn’t back away or protest.  The truth was, he'd done it before in my dreams, and I'd liked it.  I wanted it.  Artie’s mouth settled over mine, and it was even softer and warmer than his hands.  I leaned into the caress.  His arms slipped around me, and I liked that, too.  Artie was big, and his body was deliciously warm.  I knew that from all the times we’d slept together on the trail over the years; and so he was always warm in my dreams.  I kissed him back, using my tongue boldly, using my strength to press my body into his.  When Artie moaned softly, I shivered.

  
“You don’t need to be lonely, James,” Artie whispered against my mouth.  “You have me.  You’ll always have me…”

  
He started to kiss down my neck, but then he began to disappear. 

  
Frustrated, even scared, I reached out, but Artie faded away like a ghost.  “ _Artie_!” I yelled.

  
“Come find me, Jim,” he said as he disappeared.  “You need to find me!”

  
Suddenly, I remembered that I’d already lost him, and panic filled me.  “I’ve been trying to!  Artie--”

  
“Find me _now_!” he called, so desperately that my heart turned over.  I threw both of my arms out, trying to catch him, but  he disappeared.  
“ARTIE!”  I woke with a start, my arms still outstretched, with his name still vibrating on my lips.  I sat up, confused, my throat dry like I’d been yelling.  I scrubbed at my face, wondering if I had been. 

  
“Artie?” I croaked.  My cheeks were wet, and I wiped at them roughly while I tried to figure out what had just happened…  I’d been in the livery stable with Artie.  He’d kissed me, and said he’d always be with me – but then he’d somehow disappeared.  I blinked and looked around wildly.  I was in a strange room, all alone.  Where had Artie gone?  And how did I get—

  
Here? 

  
I blinked again, and finally realized where I was -- in bed in my hotel room in Desolation.  I’d worked the sheets and blanket into a tangle around me.  Had I been writhing around in my sleep?  Yelling for Artie again?

  
It wouldn’t be the first time.

  
I sagged back down on my pillows, feeling as desolate as if I’d just lost Artie all over again.  “Artemus,” I whispered hoarsely. 

  
As always, silence was my only answer.

  
Artie was gone.  He’d never really been here at all.  It had just been another dream. 

  
Artie had begun to haunt me, waking and sleeping.

  
My cheeks felt cold from the tears I’d wept.  I felt confused and lonelier than ever.

  
I was hard, too.  So hard that my erection tented the sheets.  I knew I should’ve felt ashamed of that, and of what Artie and I had done in my dream.  Hell, in most states, it was illegal.  But I didn’t feel embarrassed.  In the dream, I’d wanted him to kiss me – and nothing had ever felt more right.

  
I squeezed my eyes shut tightly.  It wasn’t the first time I’d done that.  I’d kissed Artie over and over again in my dreams recently, and he’d kissed me back.  Each time he did, my longing grew.  And every time I dreamed of him, I woke up hard and aching.  Sometimes I even spent in my sleep.  It’d shocked me at first, but now I’d gotten used to it.

  
More than that, I craved it.  I told myself I shouldn’t, but I did.  Kissing Artie excited me more than anything else ever had, even though it confused me.  I’d never imagined wanting another man before.  What would it do to me?  How would it change me?  When I found Artie someday, if he felt the same way, what would happen?  Would touching another man like that -- taking one -- make me weak?  Make me more like a woman?

  
I didn’t like that idea at all.

  
They’re just dreams, I told myself uneasily.  No one’s responsible for what they dream.

  
But were they only that?  Sometimes dreams made no sense at all; but sometimes…  Sometimes, we all dream of what we wish for and can’t have.  The things we want the most, the things that mean everything to us, even though we don’t tell another living soul what they are.

  
I was pretty sure I knew what my dreams of Artie meant.  I stared at the ceiling, aching inside and out.  I knew that sleep would be a long time coming again, if it ever came at all.

  
How had this happened?

  
And a little voice deep inside whispered, _Is this how Artie felt_?  _Is this why he left_?

  
*************************************************************************************

  
I went down to breakfast that morning feeling better than I had in weeks.  I’d dreamed of Jim the night before, and for once, the dream had warmed me.  “Eggs, sausage and coffee, my dear girl,” I said.  I smiled at the waitress, though she was no girl.  The woman was at least fifty, if she were a day.  She smiled back at me though, her tired face lighting up.  “Yes sir.  Right away.”

  
Warmed by her answering smile and pleased that I’d made the effort, I told myself that my luck must be changing for the better.  I’d decided on a place to stay, at least for awhile.  I was making progress in my new life at last; which meant that this would be a good day.  “Thank you kindly.”

  
Later, while I demolished the eggs and sausage, I did some more thinking.  If I was going to stay here, I needed to figure out something to do.  My money wouldn’t last forever.  Sooner or later I’d need a job, and I didn’t want to have to take whatever came along.  So a little planning was in order.

  
Gambling had served me well in my wanderings.  After playing poker and faro off and on for a year, I’d socked away rather large sums in several banks.  I could supplement my income playing cards here, too.  But I had no desire to make a career of it.  Though I enjoyed it, it was too dangerous.  No matter how large the city you worked in, sooner or later, you met up with some disgruntled man who’d lost to you before over a poker table, or someone who wouldn’t take losing gracefully.  I had no intention of winding up dead over something so silly.  Also, Lady Luck was fickle.  I’d been gambling for awhile now, and sooner or later, every gambler’s luck turned.  It was time to try something else, before mine did.

  
I considered other possibilities.  I’d done many things in my life.  I’d worked on a riverboat, played piano in a saloon, learned violin-making from a master craftsman, been a card sharp, hawked patent medicine, hauled coal in Pennsylvania, acted, ground paints and modeled for an artist, assisted a daguerreotype maker, spied during the war, and worked on a farm and as a stockboy in a general store when I was young – among other things.  I also spoke and read five languages.  I had a wealth of talents and experience from which to choose.

  
Acting was my great love.  Regretfully though, I’d already decided against that as a profession, at least for awhile.  Actors were too much in the public eye.  It would make me too easy to trace, if anyone was looking for me.

  
Not that anyone cares where I am, anymore.

  
Not wanting to fall back into a blue mood again, I ignored that sad thought and hurried on.  So.  If not acting, then what?  I thought back on the last few months, trying to remember what had made me happy while I drifted west.  What had felt good.

  
It wasn’t a difficult task.  The list was rather short.  Irish came to mind first.  Lizzy, the pretty little redhead.  The last woman I’d slept with, back in Kansas.  Suddenly her singing filled my head, and the sweetness of it cut through my sadness like a light.  Music, I thought, with a dim sense of hope.  Yes.  I could read music, and play all sorts of instruments.  I could make a living in various ways from that.

  
I knew I’d hit on the right idea.  I smiled a little to myself, and tipped my hat mentally to that sweet little calico girl back in Kansas.  _Thank you, Lizzy, for all your gifts_.

  
*************************************************************************************

  
In the end, it took me three days to make it to Denver.  I’d had to let the donkey rest for two days before he was strong enough to walk again.  Then it’d taken me longer than I’d thought it would to find him a new home.  But when I did, I almost hated to hand him over.  He was such a good-natured little fellow, I got kind of fond of him.  Once I got a couple of decent feedbags into him and his lashes started to heal, he walked along willingly beside Flame as we rode slowly on towards Denver. 

  
But the need to get to Denver burned in me, and I needed to get there much faster than the donkey could travel.  So I finally found a boy in a livery stable a few days north of Desolation, who knew of a family named Foster with a tiny ranch out in the country.  “The Fosters got three kids who love animals, and they’re good people, Mr. West,” he said.  I took the donkey out to their ranch, and just like he’d said, the kids were excited.  Mr. Foster was out plowing a field when I showed up, but his wife and kids came out to greet me. 

  
The oldest boy, Neal seemed to take a real shine to my little donkey, feeding him carrots and apples and clucking over his half-healed sores.  I figured they’d take good care of him.  But just to be sure, I’d told them I’d come back to see him soon.  Once I explained how awful his life had been with the peddler, they promised solemnly not to overwork him, and to make sure he had his own warm stall in their barn with all the hay and barley he could eat.  I couldn’t ask for more than that.  So I handed his reins to them, petted him a bit, and told him to be good for them.  Mrs. Foster and the kids thanked me profusely, and the kids beamed. 

  
I carried on with a lighter heart than I’d had in some time.  As soon as we left the farm, I kicked Flame to a gallop.  I pushed him as fast as I dared, down the road to Denver.

  
When I finally got there, it was late afternoon.  I went to a telegraph office first, to see if any messages had come in for me.  I found one.  A Secret Service agent had telegraphed the name and address of an Opera House where the actor I’d come here to find worked.  I pocketed the piece of paper with the Opera House’s name on it, then turned and headed out again.  I was thirsty, and there was a saloon down the street where I could get a beer before I headed off there.

  
As I strode along the boardwalk, I heard a voice, light and high like a young boy’s, call out, “Mr. Dragon!  _Mr. Dragon_!” behind me.  I turned, idly curious at the unusual name.  I saw a young boy who looked about twelve running toward a tall, dark-haired man who stood in front of the Post Office further down the boardwalk, ahead of me.  He held a piece of paper in his hands, a letter perhaps?  His head was bowed like he was reading it.  There was something familiar about the set of his shoulders…  I watched him curiously as he stuffed the piece of paper into his pocket and turned to face the boy.  So.  This was Mr. Dragon, then.  I frowned.  I’d never known anyone with that name, so why did he look-- 

  
When Mr. Dragon turned around, I froze.

  
_Jesus_ \--!

  
The kid said something to Dragon, then pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to him.  It winked silver in the bright morning light.  I watched intently as the dark-haired man took it and put it to his mouth.  The boy must’ve handed him a flute, I realized.  High, bright, sweet notes suddenly skirled into the air around them.

  
But I couldn’t have cared less about the music.  All I could see was the man who was playing it.  I focused on him so fiercely that everything else around me faded away.  Dragon’s face, the way he moved, his shoulders, his dark, wavy hair – I knew him, all right. 

  
“God,” I heard myself croak.  It was Artie!  Mr. Dragon was _Artie_!

  
My heart lurched wildly in my chest.  Even at a distance, I knew him instantly.  There couldn’t possibly be another man out there who looked that much like Artemus Gordon, and who also had his gift for music. 

  
I stared at him, stunned.  I’d found Artie.  After all this time, my search was finally over.

  
I swayed a little on my feet.  My head spun dizzily.  The desolation, the darkness that’d weighed me down for over a year, chilling me and hardening my soul, slowly began to lift off of my shoulders when I saw Artie standing there.  After a year and a half apart, I couldn’t get enough of the sight of him.  I ate him up with my eyes.  He looked good:  tall, fit and handsome as ever.  He was wearing a dark suit of good quality, that looked fairly new.  So whatever he’d been doing while we’d been apart, he must’ve done well at it. 

  
All my nightmares about Artie being hurt or worse, had obviously been just that:  bad dreams, with no basis in reality.  Thank God.  I could hardly believe my luck.  I’d been looking for an actor named Renault who was here in Denver somewhere, thinking he might be Artie in disguise.  Obviously not.  But somehow, I’d found Artie anyway.  He was here, not in disguise but using another name. 

  
It hit me then -- what were the odds of finding him like this?  Artie probably could’ve calculated them, but even I knew they had to be astronomical.  Although I’d thought Artie might be here, he’d changed his name, and I’d come looking for someone else, another actor.  It was only by purest chance that I’d crossed Artie’s path and recognized him.  If that little donkey hadn’t delayed me, I’d’ve ridden into Denver earlier, missed Artie, and gone looking for that actor I’d come to find instead.  And once I’d discovered that he wasn’t Artie, I might never have found my partner at all.

  
I’d never believed in destiny before.  I’d always believed that each man makes his own chances, forges his own path in life.  But at that moment, I had an odd feeling.  A sense that my finding him like this was more than mere chance.

  
I was meant to find Artemus, I thought hungrily.  He’s _mine_.

  
As I stared at Artie, the loneliness and sorrow that’d shadowed me since we parted were burned away by a warm surge of joy and desire.  It filled me until I felt almost light-headed.  I felt strong, confident, like I could do anything – and more aroused than I’d ever been.  I’d never felt so possessive about anyone before.  Like a man under a spell, I took a step towards Artie.  I felt dazed, half crazed with excitement, with hunger.  What I wanted, more than anything, was to touch Artie.  And not like a friend, either.  I wanted to hold him tight, so tight that he could never get away from me again.  I hungered to crush him against me, to take his mouth and learn how he tasted.  It was like all those dreams I’d had of Artie while I searched for him had set a fever burning inside me. 

  
Looking down, I saw an erection tenting my pants.  I stopped and cursed under my breath.  I couldn’t walk up to Artie like that.  He’d take one look at me and run for the hills.  I bit my lip and closed my eyes for a second, trying to master myself.  But even in the darkness behind my eyelids, erotic images flickered.  I saw myself grabbing Artie, pushing him up against a wall and plundering his mouth, kissing him hard…

  
I almost growled again.  It was maddening.  After coming all this way, after riding so many hard, lonely miles to find Artie, I couldn’t even trust myself to say hello to him!  But I couldn’t keep standing on the boardwalk staring at him, either.  Artie was nothing if not observant.  He was busy with the boy right now, but he’d notice me soon; and I didn’t want him to.  Not yet, not before I’d regained my self control.  I hadn’t forgotten how Artie had left, either, or that he’d covered his tracks afterward.  I didn’t want him to spot me and run off again, before I had a chance to talk to him. 

  
So I moved forward.  Ducking swiftly into a space between two buildings, I leaned against the wall of the nearest one.  From there, I could see Artie if I edged forward, but he couldn’t see me. 

  
I stood there awhile longer, spoiling myself by watching Artie while I tried to cool off.  I’d been looking for him for so long, it was almost hard to believe that I’d finally found him.  Artemus Gordon in the glorious, tall, dark and handsome flesh.  _Artie!_   But it wasn’t easy to calm down.  My heart beat fast and excitement coursed through my whole body, making me tremble.  I couldn’t stop thinking of touching him, kissing him… 

  
Maybe watching Artie wasn’t such a good idea after all, if I wanted to stop thinking about sex.  I closed my eyes for a minute, and pressed my head back hard against the side of the building while I wracked my brain for a distraction.

  
I hit on his new name.  I forced myself to think about that, instead of Artie’s body.  _Dragon_ , I thought.  How the hell did Artie come up with that? 

  
Then I remembered.  Artie had a blue-green dragon tattoo curling around his upper right arm.  He’d gotten it on a case we’d worked together, years ago.  I smiled a little.  It would be like Artie, to come up with a phony name that described him somehow, but in a secret way that no one else would recognize, because most people would never see his tattoo.  And even if someone did and got curious about it, he could always lie and say he’d gotten the tattoo to match his name, and not the other way around.  No one but me would have any way of knowing that was a lie.

  
_The clever bastard_ , I thought admiringly.  I’d calmed down enough by then to open my eyes again, and I shot another look at Artie.  He hadn’t moved; he was still playing the flute.  Finally, he finished and handed it back to the kid.  The boy looked up at him, talking earnestly about something.  I wasn’t close enough to hear what they were saying, but it didn’t matter.

  
All that mattered was, I’d found him.  After nearly two years, I’d finally found Artie!  I'd tried to calm down, but it was almost impossible.  My heart was still pounding and a soaring, shivery pleasure rose in me.  I felt like a hawk, riding the wind higher and higher in the sky.  I rode it until I could hardly contain myself.  It was all I could do to stay put, and not run to him.  Fear gave my excitement an added edge.  I was afraid that if I let Artie out of my sight, he might slip away from me again.  So I watched him closely, waiting to make my move.

  
Shortly after Artie gave the boy back his flute, he patted the kid on his shoulder with a smile, and the boy finally walked away.  Artie turned and walked away too.  I couldn’t wait any longer.  I didn’t dare let Artie get away.  I straightened up and went after him, moving fast and silently, so excited I felt almost like I was floating.  I caught up to Artie quickly, and tapped him on the shoulder.  I wanted to say something, something clever that would impress him, but I was so excited I could hardly breathe, let alone speak.  My heart pounded wildly, and my hands trembled.  But as Artie turned around, I grinned with pure delight. 

  
“Artie!”  I grabbed him by the shoulders, meaning to pull him close and hug him.

  
I didn’t get the chance.  Artie didn’t smile back.  When he saw me, his face went blank and paled with shock.  He jerked away from me and took a step back, his mouth working soundlessly.  His dark eyes widened, emotions flickering through them so fast that I couldn’t identify them.  Then Artie caught himself and stopped.  He opened his mouth as if to speak, but nothing came out.  He shut it, squared his shoulders and stared at me, stiffening visibly.  His eyes turned cold and wary.

  
_He’s not happy to see me_ , I thought, my heart falling.  _Not one bit_. 

  
Artie had gone on the defensive, the second he saw me.

  
My hands felt empty.  My smile vanished and my chest ached as the happy excitement I’d felt disappeared, at Artie’s cold, silent reception.  He’d stiffened like he wanted to hit me – or like he expected that I’d lay into him.  Christ.  Disappointment swept through me, painful in its intensity _._ Of course, I’d known that it was possible, maybe even likely that Artie wouldn’t be pleased to see me.  But I guess in my heart of hearts, I hadn’t really believed it.  Or maybe I’d thought he’d just shrug and get over it quickly, and that we’d soon be sharing a drink somewhere, catching up on old times.  I’d never expected this – the naked shock on Artie’s face, or the wariness that followed.  After all this time, and after all I’d gone through to find him, Artie didn’t seem to have a word to say to me.  He looked at me like I was a stranger, and a dangerous, unwelcome one at that.

  
It stunned me, and it hurt like hell.  So much that I couldn’t think of a single thing to say.  I’d dreamed of this moment so many, many times while I was riding through lonely places looking for him, but I’d never truly believed it would happen like this.  The joy I’d felt at finally seeing Artie again vanished like smoke.

  
****************************************************************

  
I stared at Jim, my eyes wide.  I could hardly believe it.  After almost two years, and despite every dodge my not inconsiderable intellect could come up with to evade him, James West suddenly stood before me.  I’d just gone to the Post Office to pick up my mail, and somehow found Jim instead.  Or more to the point, he’d found me.  How the hell had he done that?  Where the hell had he _come_ from?  It was like a dream – or a nightmare – had suddenly risen up out of the ground and taken flesh right in front of me.  I almost staggered from the shock of it.

  
Sure, my friends had tried to warn me.  Twice.  I’d just received the second letter from friends in the theater in other states, advising me that someone was looking for me.  That a man had come around asking questions about me.  Ironically, I’d barely gotten that letter tucked away in my pocket before Jim tapped me on the shoulder.  Oddly enough, I’d dreamed of Jim just a few nights ago, too.  I couldn’t remember much about it.  Mostly just images.  A hurt little donkey, an old livery stable, and getting a sullen reply from Jim when I’d asked him if he’d been fighting a lot lately.  It was all very confusing.  But I vividly remembered the best part.  I’d kissed Jim, and he’d kissed me back.  Then I’d told him that he had to find me, which hadn’t made sense either.  Why would I say that when I’d left him long ago, and done my best to make sure he’d never find me again? 

  
Then again, dreams seldom made sense.  I hadn’t paid any attention to it.  I’d been dreaming about Jim ever since I left him, after all.  All it ever meant was, I still missed him. 

  
Or so I’d thought. 

  
But given all that, I suppose Jim’s appearance shouldn’t have taken me so completely by surprise.  If I’d been more superstitious, perhaps it wouldn’t have.  Deep inside, I should’ve known that the mysterious pursuer in my friends’ letters had to be Jim.  But it’d been so long since I’d left him, I hadn’t believed that.  I hadn’t taken their letters seriously, because common sense had argued that Jim must’ve gone on with his life long ago, and perhaps forgotten all about me by now.  I’d assumed that the man looking for me was probably just some unlucky cowpoke I’d bested in a card game before I settled down in Denver.  Some rube with more money than sense, who was a poor loser.

  
_I should’ve remembered how much Jim hates to lose._

_  
_When I turned around and saw Jim, a thousand thoughts whirled through my mind.  I conceived a hundred plans, defenses and strategies in seconds, but discarded them all an instant later.  Clever though they were, they wouldn’t work.  This was Jim, after all.  I couldn’t hurt him, and now that he’d finally found me again, he’d never let me slip away unless I did.  It was stalemate, for the moment.

  
I felt a pang of resentment at being caught so flat-footed and unsuspecting, though.  On a trip to the Post Office, of all things!  It was so undramatic, so banal, it offended my sense of theater.  Being brought to heel after a long chase by a rather large armed posse would’ve suited me much better.  Serves you right, I told myself angrily, for relaxing and not paying more attention to those letters!

  
But my life had changed.  I’d been here for months, after all.  Long enough to start to form new patterns of behavior, to fall into the rhythm of the new life I was making for myself.  A less exciting life without threats or danger, yet one that still had purpose.  A life where I was no longer a spy, but a teacher.  A life where I could share my love of music and hone others’ talents at making it.  A life without Jim, but not entirely lonely.  I’d managed to spend a few hours with other men who shared my tastes.  They weren’t Jim, but they’d made me feel more at home here, all the same.  

  
I hadn’t seen Jim for almost two years.  Small wonder that I’d let down my guard, that I’d started to feel safe here –

  
Before I could stop him, Jim grabbed my shoulders, smiling widely.  “Artie!”

  
The touch of Jim’s hands seared me like nothing had in all the time since I’d left him.  The sound of my name on his lips was yet another shock, brutal in its intensity.  Both sensations transported me instantly back to happier times.  But they also made me remember how much it had hurt, loving Jim as deeply as I had.

  
As deeply as I still did…

  
I thought of all the times I’d told him, in my head, to take care of himself while we were apart.  I wanted tangible proof that it had worked, that the crazy little mental ritual I’d repeated a thousand times had somehow kept him safe.  The second I saw Jim, I had a nearly overpowering urge to surge forward and touch him, too.  I wanted to hug him so hard, his ribs would creak.

  
But part of me wanted to run away just as much. 

  
Not that it would do me any good.  I’d run so far already, used every trick I knew to leave Jim behind.  Yet here he was, holding onto me again.

  
I damned my dreams.  I damned those letters, too.  I damned myself, for not paying enough attention to them.  I damned Jim most of all.

  
My feelings were chaotic.  I wanted to punch Jim.  I wanted to take him home and tie him to my bed –

  
I wanted, no longed, to call him ‘ _James my boy’_ , the way I used to.  To throw my arms around him, and never let go.

  
I didn’t move.  Couldn’t speak.

  
I froze for a second, feeling absurdly like Jim’s hands were the only thing holding me up.  Jim just stared at me, a look of wonder in his eyes, like he found my presence as unbelievable as I did his.  I didn’t say anything.  Especially not James, or worse, _James my boy_.  Like the name of Shakespeare’s Scottish play, Jim’s name held a curious power for me.  In that moment, I was afraid that if I said it out loud, terrible things might happen.

  
Though I couldn’t imagine what could be worse than Jim showing up out of the blue, and putting his hands on me.

  
Jim, damn him, looked incredibly happy. 

  
I didn’t know what I should feel -- but feel I did.  The shock of Jim’s touch, of his devastating smile, shot through me all the way to my boots.  Jim’s hands were as broad and strong as always, and their warmth burned right through my jacket to my skin.  Jesus.  One little touch, and a towering wave of need and desire surged through me.  

  
God.  I loved him so much, I almost hated him.

  
Conflict raging through me, I swayed backwards, throwing off Jim’s hands.

  
Jim let me go, his smile fading a little.  His brows drew together in a look of confusion.

  
I tried to speak, but still couldn’t find words.  But neither could I look away.  I’d never been able to stop looking at Jim.  That was the problem.

  
Jim looked – amazing.  Intriguing.  Different.  I drank in every new detail.  He was tanned darker than I’d ever seen him, with a moustache and beard, and new lines at the corners of his eyes.  A hardness lingered there that I’d never seen before.  It caught at me, made me wonder just what had happened to Jim while we’d been apart.  Jim’s clothes were rougher too.  He wore dungarees and a rough blue workshirt instead of one of his customary fancy suits.  Both were sweat-stained from what looked like hard riding, and I could see several places where holes in his shirt had been clumsily mended.  He looked more like a cowhand right now, than the young dandy of a Secret Service agent I remembered.  And I sensed a wildness to him somehow, that went deeper than even the moustache and rough beard he sported.  Was Jim here working undercover for the Secret Service, playing some role as I used to do?

  
I felt an odd mix of envy and fear for him, all at once.  I hid it as best I could.  It wasn’t my place to worry about him anymore.

  
But god, I wished it was.  Jim was still beautiful.  He still had the same broad shoulders, the pale blue, penetrating eyes of a fairy king, lush brown hair, a full-lipped mouth that was made for kisses, a flat stomach and powerful, corded thighs that even the faded dungarees he wore couldn’t hide.  Looking at him hurt, but I still couldn’t stop.  Even in dirty, sweaty old clothes, Jim was still the most gorgeous, powerful, vital man I’d ever seen.

  
I’d told myself that I’d moved on with my life, and I was finally over Jim.  How had I ever even half-believed such an utterly outrageous lie? 

  
I’d never be free of Jim, or my hopeless love for him.

  
I tore my gaze away from Jim and stared grimly down at my boots. 

  
Jesus, I thought.  Why the hell did you have to come here?  _Why_?

  
***************************************************************************  
 

  
Artie and I stood there staring silently at each other for a moment.  Then he looked down at his boots, hiding his expression.   Finally, I couldn’t take the silence anymore. 

  
“Artie,” I grated finally.  “Don’t you know me?”  As soon as I’d said it, I could’ve kicked myself.  Jesus.  I sounded plaintive, almost whiny.  Like I was pleading with him to be glad to see me, when he so obviously wasn’t.

  
I shut my mouth so fast my teeth clacked together, but it was too late. 

  
Artie’s head snapped up, as if I’d insulted him.  Maybe I had.  It was a stupid question, and Artie always hated it when anyone insulted his intelligence.

  
He stepped back a pace.  “Sure.  I know you, West,” he said bitterly.  “Guess I shouldn’t be so surprised that you found me.  You hunt men for a living, after all.”

  
_West_.  The name, as much as Artie’s bitter words, slammed into me like a fist.  Artie hadn’t called me West in years, not since the first days of our partnership.  It hurt, and worse, I figured he’d meant it to.  Like he’d meant the way he’d called me a manhunter with a sneer, like there was something shameful in the work I did – the work we’d once done together.  Or like I was some cheap bounty hunter, here to make a pile off of turning him over to the law.  Like I had no other reason to find him but greed, like I’d never given a damn about him.  Though he was the one who’d run off, and I’d had to leave a home and a job I loved and spend almost two long years in the saddle because of it!

  
His unfairness and unexpected attack made me angry.  Artie had always been good with words, far better than me.  But he’d never turned them against me before.  Stung, I ground out, “I wasn’t hunting you, Artie.”

  
I’d hunted men many times in the past, to bring them to justice.  Artie was right about that.  But he was wrong about the rest of it.  I’d been tracking Artie at first, and searching for him ever since; but I’d never hunted him.  That would’ve meant that he was my prey, that he’d violated the law.  Neither was true.  Looking for him had been different.  Not a hunt at all, at least not after the first few weeks.  More like a pilgrimage or something.  Or maybe atonement.  A kind of penance for whatever I’d done to drive him away.

  
Artie’s eyes still looked black and unreadable.  But it was clear that he didn’t believe me.  “Really?  Then how’d you find me?”  Before I could even answer him, he added swiftly, “Never mind.  It doesn’t matter.  You’re not taking me back, so you can forget it.”

  
“What are you talking about?” I suspected I knew, but I wanted him to spell it out so I could be sure.

  
Artie didn’t answer, he just leveled a suspicious stare at me. 

  
I didn’t like what he was implying -- that I’d come here to haul him away like some criminal.  That stung.  Did Artie really think I was just here to talk him into going back into the Secret Service?  Or to somehow force him to go back, against his will?  Colonel Richmond wanted him back, all right; but that wasn’t what had brought me here.  It had been what I’d promised in the beginning, but that was a long time ago.  Things had changed since then.  I’d changed.  I didn’t care so much about the past anymore.  Even if the Secret Service hadn’t wanted him back, and hadn’t helped me find him, I’d’ve come looking for Artie anyway.  I’d wanted to find him so I could try to mend whatever had gone wrong between us.  I’d come to find out why he’d left me, and to try to make sure it never happened again.  I just didn’t know how to begin to tell him that.  And Artie hadn’t answered me, which didn’t make things any easier.

  
_He doesn’t trust me_ , I thought; and that bit deep.

  
Christ, this was hard.  I’d been expecting my friend, and in his place stood a bitter stranger.  I didn’t know how to talk to this man, didn’t have a clue how to reach him.  It was all I could do to stay calm in the face of his hostility.  I swallowed hard.  “Artie –”

  
Before I could begin to explain, Artie cut me off.  “Why are you here, West?”

  
He’d gotten right to the point – but the cold way he kept calling me ‘West’ still burned.  I wanted to lash out at him in return.  Instead, I took my time answering him.  So many strong emotions had surged up inside of me when I saw him, that I was off balance.  And Artie kept stabbing at me with his words, using them like knives to carve me up.  In spite of his unexpected coldness, though, I still longed to touch him.  I wanted to hug him, but I didn’t dare.  He’d pulled away from my touch like it burned him.  And there was something in his eyes…  I felt wary of Artie, in a way I never had before.  Artie had always been dangerous – but something warned me that now he might be dangerous to _me_.  Every line of his body radiated tension, or even anger.  If I laid so much as a finger on him again, I was pretty sure he’d hit me.  And if that happened, I wasn’t sure what I’d do.

  
I bit back my disappointment and tried to stay calm.  Finally, I said, “I’m here to see you.”  It was the plain, unvarnished truth. 

  
But once again, Artie didn’t believe it.  He raised a dark eyebrow at me. “Oh really?”

  
It was the second time he’d said that.  His look was painfully familiar, too.  It was the sardonic gaze Artie used to level on criminals who were lying to us.  Having it directed at me made me deeply angry.  I almost snapped, _Are you calling me a liar_? 

  
But I caught myself.  Artie already seemed angry.  Making him even madder would only turn this into a confrontation.  I didn’t want that.  To make our reunion go the way I hoped it would, I had to be smarter than that.  Smarter than Artie, for once.  So I settled for saying, “Have I ever lied to you, Artie?”

  
Artie blinked.  Clearly, I’d surprised him.  He looked down and ground out, “No.  No, I can’t say you have.”

  
It was little enough, but at least it was a start.  Artie’s small show of faith let me relax a bit.  Still, it was clear that I’d have to do some explaining, in order to win back his trust.  I thought carefully about what he’d said.  He’d implied that I’d hunted him, and that I’d done so to “take him back”.  Though he’d refused to explain that, he must’ve meant to the Secret Service.  Artie knew his value to them.  He’d probably also assumed that I was still their agent, and that therefore, they must’ve sent me here to find him.  Still, even given all that, it was an odd thing for him to say.  The Secret Service wasn’t the military.  It couldn’t conscript its agents, and Artie had formally resigned already.  Colonel Richmond couldn’t send me, or anyone else, to drag Artie back to the Secret Service against his will.  He’d just told me to ask Artie to come back when I found him.  The decision was up to Artie.

  
And Artie knew all that as well as I did.  So why had he accused me of hunting him down?

  
It could’ve been just an imprecise use of words, but Artie was an actor.  He was never imprecise -- _unless he wanted to be._

_  
_I thought of the way Artie had paled and stepped back when he first saw me. _Maybe he’s afraid_ , I thought.  Though I hated the thought of that, and I couldn’t imagine a man as capable, even formidable as Artie feeling like that, it would explain a lot.  Frightened men struck out, and Artie had been doing that since I got here.  He’d probably accused me of hunting him for the same reason he kept calling me ‘West’ instead of Jim.  Because it put me on the defensive.  It kept me off balance and answering his questions, dancing to his tune, instead of the other way around.

  
Clever Artie, I thought wryly.  Even if he was scared, he’d still gained the upper hand right away. 

  
I hated the idea that he might be afraid of me; but I wasn’t sure I was right about that, either.  Artie was such a consummate actor, it was hard to tell what he was really thinking.  I wondered how much of his seeming fear was real, and how much was merely a calculated ploy to gain time.  Artie had always been a good strategist, and keeping me on the defensive gave him control.  Bought him time to think.

  
Still, in case he really was scared for some reason, I forced myself to relax.  The tension that crackled between us had made me stiffen, and Artie knew me so well, he could read my mood by subtle cues like the way I held myself.  Glancing down, I saw that I’d unconsciously balled my right hand into a fist.  To prove that I was no threat, I relaxed my shoulders and arms and uncurled my fingers too, making sure they hung loosely at my sides, and nowhere near my gun.

  
I chose my words carefully, and kept my voice low and quiet.  “Colonel Richmond did ask me to ask you to come back to the Secret Service if I found you.”  I had to tell Artie that.  Like I’d said, I’d never lied to him; and I didn’t mean to start now.  “But that’s not --”

  
Artie took a step back, his face darkening again.  “No!  I won’t –”

  
I held up a hand to stop his protest, to ease the tension that’d gripped him again at the mention of that.  “All right, Artemus,” I said quickly.  “I’ll tell him you said no, and that’s the end of it.”  I was disappointed at his outright refusal, all the same.  Though I hadn’t come to Denver to convince Artie to go back to our old life, I guess a hidden part of me had somehow been hoping that he would.  Dreaming that once I found him, we could go back to our old partnership, back to the Wanderer and the life I’d loved.  Knowing that wasn’t going to happen hurt.  But I tried not to let it show.

  
Artie hesitated, his frown turning to a look of confusion.  It was clear that I’d surprised him, and in a good way.  For the first time, he relaxed a little himself.  “It is?” he asked warily.

  
“Yes,” I said, hiding my regret.  “That’s not really why I’m here.”

  
Artie’s dark eyes bored into me.  He cocked his head, studying me curiously.  He was still suspicious, still on his guard against me.  “Are you here on a case, then?”

  
“No.”  I shook my head.  I decided not to tell him that I’d quit the Secret Service myself yet.  We could talk about that later.  Right now, I just wanted to ease his fear of me.  “No one sent me after you, and I’m not here to make you do anything you don’t want.  I just wanted to find you, to make sure you were okay.  I just want to talk to you.  That’s all.”  I didn’t smile, afraid that he might take that as sarcasm.  I gave him a level look, willing him to believe me.

  
Artie stared at me for a long time.  I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but it seemed like he still wasn’t sure if he could trust me.

  
Jesus, I thought angrily.  What will it take?  But I forced myself to stay calm.  If I made him angry, he could take off again.  That was the last thing I wanted.

  
“I just want to talk,” I repeated, my heart beating fast again, but with desperation this time.  “If you’ll let me.”  I tried not to sound like I was pleading, but I was.  Artie held all the cards.  He held my future, my happiness in his hands.  He could simply choose to walk away from me.  Though the truth was, I wasn’t sure I could let him do that a second time.  I felt like my heart would crack in two all over again, if he did.

  
After what felt like forever, Artie finally looked down and sighed.  “All right.  If you insist.”  Then his eyes rose again and caught mine; and I saw the glimmer of a rueful smile tug at the corner of his mouth.  “I don’t really have much choice, do I?  If I refuse, you’ll probably just follow me, hit me over the head, tie me up and force me to talk to you anyway.  Isn’t that right, James?”

  
My heart turned over.  I didn’t know if it was deliberate, or if he’d just slipped into old habits, but Artie had finally called me James!  And I could see a hint of amusement now, mixed in with the wariness in his gaze.  I took heart from that.  With Artie, it was probably a short step from amusement to affection.  Besides, he was absolutely right about the lengths I might go to, just to talk to him. When it came to Artie, there probably wasn’t much I wouldn’t do; and he knew it.  In a strange way, that warmed me too.

  
Artie raised a sardonic eyebrow at me, waiting for my answer.

  
“Only if all else fails,” I smiled sweetly.

  
******************************************************************************

  
Artie sighed.  “Well then.  Lay on, McDuff.”  He gestured up the street, towards a nearby saloon.  I knew how much Artie loved saloons.  But I didn’t want to have our first conversation after so long, in a public place.

  
I shot him a sideways glance.  “Where can we go to talk in private?”

  
Artie hesitated.  He opened his mouth, then shut it again.  After a long pause, he finally said reluctantly, “I was just on my way home.  I live about three miles out of town.  Would that be private enough?”

  
‘Home’?  That word brought me up short, hinted at all sorts of things I hadn’t considered.  Alarm shot through me.  Somehow, in all the time I’d spent looking for Artie, I’d never really stopped to consider how his life might’ve changed while we were apart.  In a flash, I realized how stupid I’d been.  Artie had settled here, for long enough that he’d started to think of Denver as home.  Just how long had he been here?  And who had he gotten to know?  I remembered him saying that he’d had friends here; but he’d never mentioned being involved with any of them.  Had that changed?  Or had he met someone new? 

  
Jealousy licked hotly at my insides.  Did Artie have more than a home here?  Did he have a woman, too?  After all, Artie was quite a catch:  darkly handsome, brilliant, accomplished, and just about the most charming man I’d ever known.  He’d always had women hanging on him, everywhere we went; and we’d been apart for almost two years now.  It was a long time.  While I was chasing around half the U.S. looking for him, Artie could’ve done more than just put down roots here.  He could’ve gotten serious about a woman.  Hell, for all I knew, he could’ve gotten _married._  

  
I shot a lightning fast glance down at his hand.  To my vast relief, Artie wasn’t wearing a ring.  Then again, some men didn’t; especially when they were away from home.  My gut knotted up again.  “I don’t know,” I answered, a bit more harshly than I meant to.  “Do you live alone?”

  
“Yes,” Artie said. 

  
I felt a rush of relief.  That was all I needed to know.  It meant that I still had a chance with him.  Not just to tell him why I’d come, but –

  
Artie darted a sharp glance at me then.  Something in my voice, or the question I’d asked, had aroused his curiosity. 

  
Not wanting him to guess how jealous I was, I cut him off before he could say anything else.  “Where do you live?”

  
Artie gestured down a side road.  “About three miles out Silver Strike Road, and a quarter of a mile further in, down a little lane.  Just about an hour’s walk.”

  
“All right.  Just let me go get my horse first.  He’s tied up –”  I started to say, _at the telegraph office down the street_ , but caught myself.  Artie wasn’t very happy that I’d found him.  I’d probably better not mention the fact that I’d just been to the telegraph office to look for a report from the Secret Service about an actor they’d thought might be him.  The less Artie knew about how I’d tracked him down, for the moment, the better.  “He’s just up the street,” I finished.

  
Artie just shrugged.  “Sure.”

  
I smiled.  “I’ll be right back.”  Then, wanting to tease him a little, I added, “Don’t go anywhere, okay, Artie?”

  
Artie didn’t answer, and he didn’t smile back.  He just stared at me, a somber look on his face, as if he were maybe thinking about doing just that -- taking a powder.

  
I hurried off to get Flame.  I had to force myself not to look back at Artie over my shoulder, or break into a run.

  
******************************************************************************

  
When I rode back, Artie still stood right where I’d left him.  I was grateful, though I wasn’t sure if it was really friendship that’d kept him there.  I’d hoped I’d set Artie’s fears to rest, if he was afraid; but I wasn’t sure.  I had him at a disadvantage, after all.  I was on horseback, while he was on foot.  If he had tried to run, it wouldn’t’ve been hard for me to catch him.  Maybe he’d thought I’d be angry and take it out on him if he tried.  I hoped that wasn’t why he’d stayed.

  
I smiled as I pulled up next to him, trying to look as friendly as I could.  I dismounted and pointed to my horse.  “Recognize him?”

  
Artie’s eyes went wide and for the first time, I saw his face soften.  He actually smiled a little, and came forward to pet his old gelding’s neck.  “Why, Flame!” he murmured softly.  “You silly old creature.  Whatever are you doing here?”  Flame recognized Artie and nuzzled at his hands, nickering quietly.

  
“He’s mine now.”

  
“Where’s Hawk?” Artie asked casually, still petting his old horse.

  
I shrugged.  “I had to sell him a long time ago,” I muttered.  I wasn’t really thinking -- at least, not about Hawk.  I was staring at Artie’s hands, noticing how gently they were touching Flame.  Jealousy filled me as I watched, because Artie was giving Flame a warmer welcome than he had me.  Artie hadn’t even touched me when we met.  In fact, he’d flinched away like I had leprosy -- but he petted and stroked Flame with real fondness.  I ground my teeth.  I knew I was being ridiculous.  Who in the hell got jealous of a _horse_?  Still I seethed, watching Artie pet Flame with such obvious affection. 

  
Artie didn’t seem to notice my silence.  I soon realized why.  As usual, he was busy thinking.  “You tracked me to St. Louis, then,” he said quietly.  He didn’t look up, he just kept scratching Flame’s ears.  But his words were a statement, not a question.

  
I winced.  Artie had caught me out.  Already.  I hadn’t intended to tell him that I’d quit the Secret Service right after he did – at least, not for a while yet.  So what the hell had I been _thinking_ , telling him that I’d sold Hawk a long time ago?  And letting him see that I was now riding his old horse?  Long ago, I’d had the dumb idea that I might impress Artie when I found him again, by riding up on Flame.  That I could show him how close I’d been on his trail after he left, how narrowly he’d escaped me.  But the truth was, he hadn’t just escaped me, he’d evaded me for almost two years.  I’d given up on the idea of ever impressing Artie long ago, and clung instead to the slim hope that I’d someday find him again. 

  
In fact, I’d gotten so used to riding Flame that I’d forgotten what seeing him would give away, to a man as sharp as my ex-partner.  Artie had instantly put those two facts together, and guessed that I’d probably been tracking him since the day he left!  Next, he’d realize that I couldn’t have done that and kept working for the Secret Service.  And I wasn’t ready to confess that I’d made finding Artie my life’s work for the past two years, yet. 

  
I thought fast.  “I bought Flame for you,” I said.  I hoped if I changed the subject and surprised him, Artie might get distracted.

  
“What?” Artie’s eyes widened.

  
I shrugged, relieved that my little gambit had worked.  “He’s a good horse.  You shouldn’t’ve had to sell him.  I thought you might want him back.”  That wasn’t even a lie.  Not anymore.  It hadn’t been my original intention, but I’d changed a lot since then, and I’d thought of returning Flame to Artie many times in the past few months.  Though I’d grown rather fond of Artie’s old gelding myself, I hadn’t forgotten that Artie hadn’t just left me, he’d deliberately disappeared.  So I’d figured that having something to give Artie when I found him, might help smooth things over between us.  I could always get another horse, after all; but there was only one Artemus Gordon.  Even if he was calling himself Dragon these days…

  
“Jim.”  Artie suddenly stopped and caught at my arm, turning me gently to face him. 

  
I met his eyes squarely, but inwardly I felt a flicker of hope.  He’d called me Jim again, not West.  It was a start.

  
“Do you have two horses now?”

  
I shrugged.  “No.  But I can always get another one.”

  
Artie swallowed hard and searched my face.  “That’s quite a generous offer,” he said finally, “but I’ve already got another horse.  You keep him.”  

  
“All right.”  I didn’t mind that Artie had rejected my offer, because it seemed I was getting through to him at last.  His face wasn’t cold anymore, and though he wasn’t smiling, his voice had definitely warmed up too.  Artie seemed more like his old self again.  Despite the rocky start we’d had, it gave me hope that things might work out all right between us after all.

  
We turned and walked on then.  I could’ve ridden, but I didn’t want to be so far away from Artie.  So I led Flame on foot, and walked beside Artie.

  
 I cast about for a safe subject of conversation, and thought of his curious new name.  “So.  You’re Mr. Dragon now, are you?”

  
He shrugged, and smiled slightly. “Arthur Dragon, if you please,” he answered, with a little flourish and half bow that was so characteristic, it caught at my heart.  For an instant, he wasn’t the cold, angry stranger I’d found here, he was Artie – my Artie – again.  My throat tightened up, and I couldn’t speak.  God, I’d missed him so.

  
Artie didn’t seem to notice my lapse.  When he straightened up again, he added wryly, “I thought that if you looked for me, you’d be looking for Artemus Gordon.”

  
_If?_ I thought, shocked by the word he’d said so casually.  Had he really imagined that I _wouldn’t_ look for him?  That I’d just let him go, let our friendship go like that?  I almost wanted to shake him.  Then I remembered:  he’d ridden away while I was asleep, sold his horse and even changed his name, to evade me.  Those weren’t the actions of a man who’d felt I cared so little for him, that I wouldn’t even try to follow him.  On some level, Artie had known that I wouldn’t just let him go.

  
I relaxed enough to smile back.  “I was.  But why’d you pick that name?”

  
Artie shot a little glance at me out of the corner of his eyes, and I thought I saw a smile lurking in them.  “I thought of naming myself Robert E. Lee for awhile.  Figured you’d _never_ find me that way.”

  
I burst out laughing in spite of myself. 

  
Artie smiled openly.  “But I’m rather fond of the name ‘Artie’.”

  
I grinned.  “Me too.”

  
“And when I was considering a new first name, I realized that if I chose ‘Arthur’, I could go on being called ‘Artie’.”

  
“Makes sense.”

  
“When it came to a last name – well, that was a little harder.”  He smiled again.  “There are so many grand names to choose from:  Da Vinci, Shakespeare, Balzac, Jefferson, Byron –”

  
“Byron would suit you,” I cut in, thinking of the darkly handsome English poet who was so intelligent, charming and reportedly wildly successful with women.  I was relieved that Artie had relaxed enough to smile and banter a bit with me, at last.

  
Artie bowed his head, smiling at the compliment.  “Why, thank you.  But after giving it some thought, I decided to settle for something a little less -- well, conspicuous.”  He shot another sideways glance at me, which I pretended not to see.  “I wanted something out of the ordinary, all the same.  Then I thought of my tattoo.  And when I realized that ‘Dragon’ is just one letter away from being an anagram for Gordon, well.  It seemed like a fitting last name.”

  
“It is that.”  Artie was right:  he should have an exotic last name.  He was anything but common.  But his new name was more than that.  I’d half forgotten Artie’s fondness for complexity, for word puzzles, riddles and anagrams.  I shook my head.  Trust Artie to come up with a new name for himself that was both exotic, personally significant, and almost a perfect anagram for his real one, I thought admiringly.

  
I realized again, how lucky I was to have found him.  I’d spent a lot of my adult life tracking down men who didn’t want to be found.  But Artie had been the toughest, the most elusive by far.  After he’d sold Flame, I’d never found another trace of him.  Even after eighteen months of dedicated searching, and the help of the Secret Service, I’d more or less just been lucky enough to stumble over him.  The only thing I’d done right was guess that he might come to Denver.  But Denver was a big city, and if I hadn’t come out of that telegraph office just when I did…

  
Artie jolted me out of my thoughts by casting a sharp gaze at me as we walked.  “You look pretty rough, Jim.”

  
I blinked at him, surprised because he sounded concerned about me.   

  
Artie seemed to realize that he’d given away more than he meant to.  He waved a hand at me.  “Well, the moustache, the beard…  Have you decided to change your appearance so much?”

  
_Not if you don’t like it_.  But it wasn’t the time or the place to tell Artie how my feelings for him had changed.  I wasn’t sure I’d ever get that chance, so I kept it simple.  “No.  I’ve just been riding for a few days, and haven’t been to a barber in awhile.” 

  
That was true.  Before I’d reached Desolation, I’d been riding hard.  I’d wanted to get to Denver as soon as possible, to find out if the actor the Secret Service had wired me about, some man named Renault, was really Artie.  Also, I’d broken my tiny shaving mirror about six months ago, and never gotten around to replacing it.  And if I tried shaving myself out on the trail without one, I often cut myself, and I hated that.  Since I’d been on horseback so much these past months, I’d started wearing a moustache and beard to avoid it.  I trimmed the beard close to my jaw, but it just seemed easier to let my facial hair grow while I was in between towns, and just shave occasionally, when I stayed in a hotel with a mirror. 

  
“I see.”  Artie was quiet for a minute.  Then he said, “You can shave at my place, if you like.”

  
Again, he’d surprised me.  That offer seemed downright friendly.  Then again, I thought ruefully, maybe Artie just thinks I look like a ruffian or some sort of gunslinger, and he doesn’t want to be seen with someone like that.  Maybe he’s just trying to save his own reputation. 

  
Either way, I wasn’t going to pass up a chance to shave in front of a mirror again.  “Thanks.  I think I will.”

  
*********************************************************************************************

  
Artie pointed right about three miles further on.  “This is the road to my place,” he said quietly.  We turned down a pleasant road, lined on both sides with big old trees.  Artie’s house, his home, was at the end of this road.  It was still too far away to see it yet; but curiosity filled me.  What would a home Artie had fixed up himself be like?  Dark or light?  What kind of things would he fill it with?  Books certainly, I thought, and a lab for his experiments.  Musical instruments too, if I knew Artie.  He’d sure picked a good location, I thought.  Close enough to Denver that he could easily walk there, yet far enough away from the city’s bustle that it was really quiet.  Artie could have all the privacy he wanted out here.

  
I thought, again, of reasons he might have for wanting that.  I shot him a secret sideways glance.  He’d said he lived alone, so he couldn’t be married.  But that didn’t mean he didn’t have a lover.  Or two or three…

  
I wondered if any of them were men. And if I could be one of them.

  
No, the only one.  Now that I’d found Artie again, I felt more and more strongly that he was mine; and I’d never been good at sharing what belonged to me.

  
A flock of birds flew overhead as we walked.  Artie lifted his head to watch them, smiling slightly.  His neck arched, his throat forming a strong, beautiful curve against the sky.  A breeze wafted through his hair, like invisible fingers lifting his dark curls.  Hunger hollowed me out, and I burned with jealousy.  Everything, it seemed, made me jealous.  Anything that Artie touched, anything that touched him…  Even the wind.

  
You’re being ridiculous, I told myself a second time.  It was true, but it didn’t stop me wanting him.

  
I forced my eyes off of him, and back to the road ahead of us.  It curved a bit further on, so I couldn’t see Artie’s house yet.

  
Artie lived there.  Artie _slept_ there.

  
I tried not to imagine what his bedroom looked like.  His bed…

  
So of course, it was all I could think of.

  
Artie looked back at me then, and his dark eyes narrowed in a quizzical look that was all too familiar.  “What’re you up to, Jim?”

  
I thought, and not for the first time, that Artie would’ve made a frighteningly good Inquisitor.  He’d always been good at guessing what I was thinking, even when I didn’t want him to.  Especially then.  I tried not to flush or look guilty, but I knew he wasn’t just teasing me.  That question had more than one meaning.  Artie was still unsure why I was here. 

  
That was all right.  I had a load of questions for him, too.  What had Artie been doing since we parted?  How did he make his living now?  Was he involved with anyone?  Would he get involved with me? 

  
But it was too soon to ask, when Artie was still so suspicious of me.  My questions would have to wait, at least until tomorrow.  It was safer to treat his as a joke for now, so I gave him my best wide-eyed, innocent look.  “Why, Mr. _Dragon_ ,” I said slyly.  A little reminder that he’d just spend the last eighteen months running from me, and had even taken on a made-up name to escape me; so who was he to accuse me of deviousness? “What kind of question is that, to ask an old friend?”

  
He snorted.  “A wise one.  _Old friend_.”

  
But Artie must’ve understood my double meaning.  He didn’t press the point, and we kept walking. 

  
When Artie wasn’t looking, I smiled to myself.  Because despite my lascivious thoughts, Artie had just called me ‘old friend’.  And we’d only just been reunited, but I’d already talked him into taking me home with him.

  
Things were definitely looking up.

  
****************************************************************************************** 

  
When we finally came around the last bend in the road and my house came into view, I shot a glance at Jim.  His eyes widened instantly when he took in the large, grand-looking two story house.  I tried not to grin, but despite my resolve to keep Jim at a distance, I couldn’t resist teasing him a bit.  “What?  You were expecting something better?”

  
“ _Better_?”  Jim shook his head, obviously impressed.  “No!  Good God, Artemus.  Have you been robbing _banks_ since you left?”

  
I chuckled openly at that, pleased with his reaction.  “Oh no,” I answered blithely.  “That’s far too dangerous.  Would you believe me if I say I won it in a card game?”

  
Jim narrowed his eyes at me, smiling slightly. 

  
“Well, maybe more than one.”  I was still teasing, but it was at least partly true.  I’d made a lot of money gambling while I wandered, and spent very little.  Most of those winnings had gone into the house, plus a portion of the rather large sum I’d saved while working for the Secret Service.  But I’d still had plenty left over to buy some furniture and new instruments, and set myself up in my new career as a music teacher.  It had all worked out rather well -- at least until Jim showed up.

  
Still…  His open admiration of my house went a ways toward easing the shock I’d felt at seeing him again.

  
It was a nice house, I had to admit.  Far too large for one person, yes.  Still, I’d loved it at first sight.  It was practically new.  It’d been built just five years ago, for a wealthy young man named McGillon, with more money than sense.  He’d inherited a fortune from his father, so the local gossips said.  He owned an estate, several smaller houses and a large ranch near Denver, as well as being part owner in his father’s silver mine.  But he’d fallen head over heels for some wealthy woman he’d met who lived in California.  When she went back there shortly after I arrived in Denver, McGillon had been frantic to sell his two smaller houses, so he could dash off and woo his new love.   

  
He’d been in such a hurry to leave Denver, in fact, that his estate agent had sold me this house, which had been the young nabob’s smallest, for slightly less than its actual worth.  Though it still hadn’t come cheap, I’d leapt at the chance to get it.  It was painted a dark shade of blue, with white trim.  It had two stories, four bedrooms (one of which I’d turned into a lab), a large parlor downstairs, a morning room that I used as a music room, a sunny kitchen at the back with a garden behind it, two water closets (one on each floor) and a cupola tower on the second floor where I’d installed a spyglass.  Which wasn’t merely for fun, though I did like looking out of it.  But my years in the war and then the Secret Service had left me with a strong desire to be able to survey everything around me, to make sure no one had crept up on me while I wasn’t paying attention. 

  
If I had to stay in one place for awhile, I wanted to do so in comfort; and McGillon’s blue house had everything I wanted – and more.  It also came with 40 acres of land attached.  I hadn’t yet decided if I wanted to keep them all yet.  But because they surrounded the house on all sides, ensuring my privacy, I was of half a mind to hold on to at least some of them.  Men like me couldn’t be too careful, and those acres ensured that I’d have no nosy neighbors watching who came and went from my house; which was another reason I’d bought it, instead of a house in Denver itself.  Still, it was a lot of land, and since I had no intention of farming, I was still mulling over what to do with it.

  
Jim burst out laughing suddenly, and clapped me on the shoulder.  “Artie, you never cease to amaze me,” he grinned.  Then he used his grip to propel me forward.  “Come on then.  Show me your fancy new house!”

  
***************************************************************************************

  
Even as I followed Artie inside, I still marvelled at how big his house was.  It was beautiful inside, with a big, carved wooden staircase in the entryway, big fireplaces in the downstairs bedrooms, lots of sturdy, graceful furniture, and colorful rugs everywhere.  It was spacious and uncluttered, except for his laboratory, which had the usual mess of spare parts and tools spread all over it. 

  
The only room Artie didn’t show me was his bedroom, upstairs.  He showed me a guestroom first, with a white wash basin and a large, sturdy-looking bed with a white coverlet.  Then he said simply, “The other room down the hall is mine.”  To my sharp disappointment, he didn't offer to show me his bedroom.  He just waved at it from down the hall, then said, “Let’s head downstairs.  You still haven’t seen the parlor.”

  
I didn’t really give a damn about it, either.  I wanted to see his room.  I craned my neck at it, but just got a glimpse of a nightstand and the edge of a bed before Artie said sharply, “Come on, Jim,” and I had to follow him down the stairs.

  
I bit my lip.  Had Artie guessed that was the room that I most wanted to see, and why?

  
I followed him into his parlor anyway.  It had a large, handsome fireplace too, with a black marble mantlepiece.  There were two well-padded, matching red and black chairs in front of it, facing each other across a woven red rug with Indian patterns on it.  The room was simple, masculine and tasteful, all at once.  Decorated with an eye to both beauty and comfort, like the rest of the house.  I saw  Artie's taste in all of it.  I admired his style, how he'd made his home comfortable and welcoming, despite its size.

  
Artie sat down in one of the chairs with the comfort of long familiarity.  Jealousy pricked me again as I looked at the other chair.  I couldn’t help wondering who usually occupied it; who Artie usually sat with here at night. 

  
Artie cocked his head at me curiously.  “Come on and sit down, Jim.”

  
I sat in the chair facing his, feeling jealous but trying to hide it.

  
“Well, what do you think?” he asked.  He’d turned serious again after he’d caught me trying to look into his bedroom.  But I didn’t regret doing that, so I just acted like I didn’t notice his changed mood. 

  
“Hmm?”  I was busy casting covert glances around the room, trying to see if Artie had visitors who’d left any traces behind. 

  
Artie settled back in his chair, watching me closely.  “About the house, Jim,” he prompted, a trifle impatiently.

  
I knew he’d caught me examining the room a bit too closely.  I looked back at him, trying my best to look innocent.  I could tell he was proud of his home, and for good reason.  It was a big, grand house, fit for a captain of industry.  But Artie had softened its formality by filling it with rich colors and the things he loved.  “It’s great, Artie,” I smiled, meaning it.  “It’s beautiful.  And it suits you.”  I still wondered how he could afford a house so large and grand, but I figured he probably hadn’t been kidding me about winning it in a card game.  Artie was the best poker player I’d ever seen.

  
Artie unbent enough to smile a little at my praise.  “Thanks.”

  
I looked at the items laid carefully on a shelf across the room:  a violin and flute.  A guitar in an opened case was propped against the wall and a piano stood near it, with sheet music on it. 

  
“You got new instruments,” I said, pleased.  I remembered how shocked I was, that Artie had left all of his old ones behind on the train.  Until I realized that he’d taken only his most prized possessions because he meant to ride hard and fast – to get away from me.  Then I’d felt sick.

  
“Yes.” 

  
Funny, how little Artie was talking.  It frustrated me.  Then I remembered all those times when he’d poked at me when we worked together, trying to get me to talk more.  Now I knew how he must’ve felt.  I pressed on.  “Do you still play?”

  
He nodded, his eyes on the instruments, his face softening a bit.  “All the time.”

  
I was glad of that.  Artie had always loved music and the opera; and he had a fine baritone.  I had no musical talent, and had never learned to play an instrument.  But I loved to sing, and I could carry a tune well enough.  Artie had always said he liked my voice, and he was a good judge.  We’d whiled away many a night on the Wanderer, singing together while he played his violin.  Thinking of that, I asked, “Would you play a song for me?”

  
Artie shook his head, but not very hard. 

  
I cocked my head at him and smiled a little.  “Aww, come on, Artie.  Please?”  He raised an eyebrow at me, but I just widened my smile, wheedling shamelessly and not caring.  Hell, I’d’ve pleaded with him if I had to.  Anything to keep him talking, to keep that dark, wary look off his face.  Anything to keep him from asking me to leave… 

  
Artie sighed, but then he finally smiled back at me, some of the renewed tension seeming to ease from his shoulders.  He shrugged.  “Oh, all right then.”  He sounded a little grumpy, but when he picked up a guitar and strummed it for a moment, it seemed to fade away.  He smiled to himself, and I wondered what he was thinking.  In the old days, he’d often asked me what I wanted to hear when he played for me.  This time he didn’t ask, but I didn’t mind.  I was relieved that he’d agreed to do it at all.  I waited quietly while he plucked gently at the guitar strings and hummed along, warming his voice up.  When he started to sing, I recognized the melody instantly. 

  
_Shenandoah_. 

  
It was a song from the war, but not about fighting.  It was a love song, a beautiful one, and it brought back fond memories.  Artie knew it was a favorite of mine, and we’d often sung it together late at night, on the Wanderer.  Hearing him sing it now, a helpless warmth rose in me, tightening my throat.  I could almost believe we were back on our train again, singing together while the miles rumbled away beneath us in the dark. 

  
“Away, you rolling river….” 

  
After awhile, I joined in with him softly, singing a lighter harmony to his deeper baritone.  I felt oddly like I might be trespassing at first, but Artie didn’t object, and we both kept on going.  After a few minutes, though, I had to stop.  I lowered my head, hiding my face from Artie.  I felt good, far too good. 

  
It was stupid, it was sentimental and I knew it.  But I couldn’t help it.  I felt warm and safe and like I was finally at home again, after all my long months of wandering.  All because I was with Artie again.  Because he hadn’t sent me away, because he’d chosen a song he knew I loved, and let me sing it with him.  I had to look away, so he wouldn’t see the feelings all piled up in my eyes.

  
So I wouldn’t start smiling, and never stop.

  
************************************************************

  
While I played and sang for Jim, I was busy thinking furiously. 

  
Though Jim seemed relaxed while he listened, and happy enough to sing along with me, his looks told a different story.  He was bearded and darkly tanned, like a man who’d spent most of his days in the saddle for a long time.  He was a bit more muscular than I’d remembered, too.  His biceps and thighs were even larger than they had been.  I wasn’t sure if that was due to the exercising Jim was so fond of, or if he’d been doing some sort of hard physical labor lately.  Whatever the cause, it made him look even more formidable than he always had; and he’d been a hard man to begin with. 

What had Jim become since we parted?  His hands were heavily callused, and bore some scars I didn’t recognize.  Some of them were fairly new.  From the look of his scarred knuckles, he’d been fighting quite a bit.

  
_Oh, James.  What the devil have you gotten yourself into, since I left_?

  
Still, my compassion for him mixed with wariness.  Jim was still doing his best to seem harmless as a mouse, but I wasn’t so easily fooled.  No one knew better than I what a deadly man Jim could be, if he chose.  I’d seen him explode from seeming stillness many times, and floor every man in the room in less than five minutes.  He looked even more dangerous now.  Bearded, tanned and heavily muscled, emanating a coiled, barely leashed energy as he lounged before my fire, Jim looked about as domestic as a full-grown cougar.  Though I took pains to seem like I was relaxing, I didn’t make that mistake.  In reality, my mind was racing.  I was determined to stay two steps ahead of Jim, and whatever he was up to.

  
For a second, I wondered if he’d actually left the Secret Service, and taken up boxing.  It would explain the state of his hands, and his heavier muscles.  But no, Jim would never do that.  He loved the Secret Service far too much.  Besides, he’d said that Col. Richmond had asked him to ask me to come back.  But he’d also said that he wasn’t here on a case.  So if he was still in the Secret Service but not pursuing someone, what was Jim doing in Denver?  Was he on furlough?

  
I didn’t ask him, for two reasons.  One, I didn’t want him to know that I was worried.  Two, I didn’t know if I’d get a straight answer; and I wasn’t ready for a confrontation with him, either.  Not just yet.

  
I didn’t think Jim meant to harm me – at least, not at the moment.  He was busy singing, and he was smiling.  Music truly had soothed the savage breast, just as it always had in the past, as far as Jim was concerned.  He’d always been at his most peaceful when we’d sung together.  Jim loved music too, almost as much as I did.  That was the real reason I’d agreed to play for him.  I’d needed to gain some breathing room, a little time to think.  Besides – the only blows we’d ever traded had been when we’d sparred on the train; and even then, Jim had always held back.  I knew it, because I’d seen what he could do when he didn’t.  In all the years I’d known him, Jim had never once hit me in anger.  Not even during the worst of our arguments. 

  
_But that doesn’t mean he never will_ , I thought darkly.  The Jim I knew wouldn’t have done so; but this wasn’t the same man.  I hadn’t seen Jim in almost two years, and the tanned, bearded man who sat by my fire now in plain cowboy gear wasn’t the cocky, immaculately dressed and barbered young peacock I remembered from our Secret Service days.  More than just his appearance had changed.  There were other, subtler differences too.  Things that no one but me would’ve noticed.  Beneath Jim’s surface sophistication, he’d always been a scrapper.  Despite his polish and the charm he’d learned, he’d never been more than half tamed.  This man looked wilder and fiercer still.  There was an edge to him now that he’d always concealed before.  If he’d been a finely honed blade in a scabbard once, now James West was a weapon unsheathed. 

  
Jim noticed my regard, and smiled at me as he sang.  The flash of white teeth in his tanned face looked almost feral, and I thought of wolves and other large, graceful predators.

  
My gaze slid away, and I tried not to shiver.  I remembered how I’d left him without a word, and how Jim always hated losing control more than anything.  Cold little fingers walked down my spine.

  
I kept on singing while I figured things out.  Despite what he’d said, Jim had hunted me down all right.  I wondered how.  It was odd that he’d found me again, despite all my precautions.  Jim was good of course, but I’m better.  I decided that he’d probably had help.  Colonel Richmond and his Secret Service agents, most likely.  Still, Jim had sworn that he hadn’t come here to get me to re-enlist, so to speak; and I believed him.  About that, anyway.

  
He’d also said he just wanted to talk to me, to make sure that I was all right.  I doubted that very much. 

  
Jim couldn’t have found me without putting a great deal of time and effort into it.  He’d hardly have done that just to have a little chat.  Especially not after the way I’d left him.  Incredible though it seemed, I wondered if he’d been looking for me ever since then.  It seemed like a crazy idea, and it had never occurred to me until I saw Jim again.  But now that I had, it didn’t seem like it was beyond the realm of possibility.  The letters I’d received from friends in the theater during the past few months supported it, as did the fact that he’d found Flame.  I’d sold my gelding just three days after I left Jim, and the man I’d sold him to had told me he intended to resell Flame as quickly as possible.  But Jim had evidently bought my horse before anyone else could.  So he must’ve been hot on my heels, at least at that point.

  
So why had it taken him this long to find me?

  
I thought back to those first terrible days after I’d left Jim.  Despite my grief, I hadn’t lost my wits.  After I’d sold Flame in St. Louis, I’d started taking steps to make sure that Artemus Gordon disappeared.  I’d assumed the first in a series of false names.  Then I’d bought a blonde wig, glued on a blonde moustache, put on a Southern accent and left St. Louis in disguise, on a stage headed west.  I’d also bought and sold several horses, and changed my name and appearance many times since then.  

  
_Jim must've been close behind me at first, but I must’ve lost him in St. Louis_. 

  
It was the only theory that made sense.  Because in my more than a year of wandering after that, other than the letters I’d received saying that someone had been looking for me, I’d seen no signs of any pursuit.  The first letter had found me shortly after I arrived in Denver.  The friend who wrote it, who lived in Dallas, had just mentioned that he’d heard a rumor circulating in theatrical circles that some cowboy had caused a ruckus in an opera house there, looking for me.  Apparently, the cowboy had mistaken another actor for me, they’d gotten in some sort of dust-up, and the actor had screamed bloody murder about it. 

  
At the time, I’d been vaguely amused.  Even if the cowboy had been Jim, I was long gone from Texas, and knew that whoever had been asking about me there had no way of determining where I’d gone.  Until I got the second letter and Jim showed up today, I’d assumed that whoever had been looking for me in Texas had probably long since given up. 

  
Now, I wondered if that cowboy who’d caused an uproar looking for me in Dallas had been Jim.  And just how many other places he might’ve been, searching for me.  His sun-browned, hardened looks and heavily muscled thighs, as well as the fact that he’d bought Flame, supported my theory that he might’ve been riding hard for months, looking for me. 

  
Then again, how could he have done that, while working for the Secret Service?  Had Jim just looked for me in his spare time, wherever Col. Richmond sent him on missions?  That seemed far too haphazard a strategy to have any hope of success.  Even if he had wanted to do that, how had he found the time?  The Secret Service frowned upon active agents dabbling in other pursuits on company time, and being an agent had never left us with much free time to spare. 

  
And yet… Jim no longer looked like the suave, confident spy I remembered.  He looked like a man who’d been on horseback, out in all kinds of weather for months.

  
I couldn’t decide what the truth was.  I didn’t have enough evidence, yet, to be sure.

  
I kept coming back to Jim’s real motive for coming here.  Though he’d never lied to me before, I still didn’t think he’d told me the truth about that.  I hadn’t forgotten the new scars on Jim’s hands, or the fact that he hated to lose.  I forced myself to consider the idea that he might’ve come here to take some sort of revenge on me, for leaving him flat the way I did.  Given the look of wonder and joy that’d swept over Jim’s face when he first saw me, it seemed unlikely, but I couldn’t be sure about that yet, either.  Jim had been trained to be deceptive, just like I had.

  
I had to force my eyes away from Jim as I played.  I didn’t want to believe his motive was revenge.  I couldn’t stand to think that Jim would ride for so long and come so far just to try to hurt me.  But he’d hurt me so badly before, I couldn’t help but feel wary of him now.  If it were true, I didn’t want the dangerous man by my fire to think that I suspected him, or to guess how fast my mind was racing, trying to decide what I should do. 

  
It wasn’t easy.  Jim’s sudden reappearance had rocked me, taken me completely by surprise.  Despite everything I’d done to evade him, he’d finally found me, and thrown me off balance in an instant.  Not just with his presence, which was enough to shatter my heart by itself, but with his behavior, which didn’t make sense.  If Jim had been following me for – my God, it would be for _eighteen months_ _now_ – for revenge, why wasn’t he furious, now that he’d finally caught up with me?  Why hadn’t he lit into me the instant he saw me?  Though Jim usually kept a tight rein on it, he’d always had a temper.  And God knew, I’d given him ample cause for an explosion.  Leaving the way I had was insult enough.  But I’d goaded him earlier too, trying to get him to lose his temper, trying to keep him off balance so that he’d tell me what he was really doing here.

  
Yet despite my deliberate coldness, which had verged on insult, Jim had restrained himself.  In the face of my obvious hostility, he’d been civil, even friendly.  He hadn’t lifted a finger to hurt me.  Jim had never been one for open displays of emotion – at least, not the gentler kind.  But when he first saw me, he’d smiled and looked so delighted that I’d thought he was about to throw his arms around me, right there in the street.  He’d shocked me so much that I’d shaken him off and actually taken a step back.  Not because I didn’t want him to touch me, but because I wanted it too much.  I knew I could never keep my wits about me if he embraced me, so I’d pulled away before he could.  I’d been cold to him, even nasty, mostly out of self defense.  Yet instead of getting angry, yelling at me or even striking me, he’d acted strangely happy to see me anyway.  He’d reassured me that he hadn’t come here to drag me back to the Secret Service.  Hell, he’d even offered to give me back my old horse!  Claimed that he’d _bought_ Flame back for me! 

  
It was enough to confuse anyone.  Despite the changes I sensed in Jim, despite the rawness I saw in him, he’d been so kind, so generous, and seemed so happy to see me again that it was almost eerie.  If he wasn’t so obviously Jim, if he didn’t smell like Jim, walk and talk like him, I’d’ve suspected that the man sitting beside my fire was another double or doppelganger or something, created by Dr. Loveless to plague or kill me.  But I knew that couldn’t be.  Loveless’s real obsession had always been Jim.  Since I’d left him, I’d seen neither hide nor hair of Loveless, and I didn’t expect to.  The little doctor had no reason to come after me now.

  
No, the man sitting by my fire had to be Jim.  A stronger, edgier, in some ways even more dangerous Jim, but still James West.

  
Not the same James I’d known, though.  Something was wound tight in him, beneath his surface calm.  I could feel it.  But something was missing too.  Was it his old arrogance?  Jim’s way of assuming every door would open for him, that he could turn every situation to his advantage?  Despite the darkness I sensed in him, he seemed paradoxically a bit humbler than he had been.  As if something, or someone, had knocked him down a peg or two.  And he’d been kind to me, far kinder than I deserved, given how I'd left him.  I couldn’t figure it out. 

  
Who _was_ Jim now?  What had he been doing for the past two years, and why was he here?

  
The biggest mystery of all was, why the hell hadn’t he asked me why I’d left him?  We’d been together for several hours now, yet he’d never even mentioned it.  What did that mean?  Did Jim know what I was, and why I’d had to go?  I’d thought so, ever since he’d pushed me away before I left.  But if so, why had he come after me?  Why on earth had he even said Hello to me?  And if not, if I’d somehow been mistaken and he hadn’t guessed my true nature, then why hadn’t he asked why I’d disappeared? 

  
It didn’t make sense.  None of it did.  Jim simply wasn’t the type to let anything go.  His curiosity was sharp, and ordinarily relentless.  So was Jim.  Yet he wasn’t interrogating me, or even asking me any questions.  He just seemed happy, even relieved, to be here.  He was behaving uncharacteristically, to say the least.  It was starting to make me nervous. 

  
Should I make him go, or ask him to stay?

  
**************************************************************

  
When Artie finished singing “Shenandoah”, I cleared my throat and lifted my head.  “Thank you.”

  
I meant it, and for more than just the song.  I think Artie knew that, because he smiled back at me.  I felt heartened by that.  It was a small smile, but it was still the first real one he'd given me, since I found him again.

  
Then he looked away and strummed softly, idly on his guitar.  Something that wasn’t quite a melody, but was still sweet for all that.  “One more song?” I asked, greedy for more of whatever he was willing to give me.

  
Artie lifted his dark head and gave me a long, unreadable look.  But his fingers still moved softly over his guitar strings, so I guessed that he wasn’t sore at me for asking.

  
After a time, he said quietly, “Okay then.  Here’s a song I learned from an Irishman, awhile back.” 

  
I felt a dark twinge deep inside at that.  I wondered who the Irishman was, and what he’d meant to Artie.  He didn’t say, and I didn’t dare ask.

  
Yet.

  
************************************************************************************

  
When we finished singing “Shenandoah”, Jim thanked me, then quietly asked for another.  “One more song?”

  
I eyed him for a moment before I agreed, still puzzling over his strange behavior.  But then Jim tilted his head and smiled at me in a way that was achingly familiar.  That look always used to render me putty in his hands.  _Not this time_ , I told myself sternly.  It’s getting late, and I should get to bed.

  
But somehow, that wasn’t what I said.  “Okay then.  Just one.”  Hearing myself give in like I always used to, I thought wryly, _Some things never change_. 

  
Some things had, though.  For the first time in many years, I couldn’t figure Jim out.  And it seemed likely that he must be just as puzzled by me.  I knew he hadn’t expected my cold reception when he’d first found me.  He’d looked stunned when I’d called him ‘West’, and I’d seen pain flickering in his eyes when I’d pulled away from him, pain that had surprised me.  Here we are, old friends of many years, I thought ruefully, who are still mysteries to each other.

  
I laid the guitar back in its usual corner and picked up my violin to play a second song for Jim.  I still didn’t know why Jim was here, or why he hadn’t asked me yet why I’d ridden away from him without a word back in Illinois.  It seemed like that could mean only one of two things.  One was that he wasn’t sure where we stood anymore.  Whether our friendship was still there, and strong enough to bear the weight of what would surely be a painful discussion.  I didn’t think that was very likely.  The Jim I'd known had never been much of a diplomat.  He looked even less like one now. 

  
The second possibility, of course, was that Jim hadn’t asked me because he already knew the answer.

  
But in that case, why was he here?

  
I lowered my head while I bowed at the strings of my violin.  My thoughts just kept going round in circles, while inside, every inch of me had gone tight with longing again.  God, I thought sadly.  How did I ever bear this for all those years -- wanting Jim so hopelessly, keeping it all locked inside -- without going utterly mad?  We’d only been together for a few hours, and I already felt like I’d been longing for him since the day I was born.

  
Maybe I had.

  
“Light the lamp, will you Jim?” I asked, as I put a little resin on my bow before I started playing.  “It’s going on dark.”

  
Jim got up.  “Sure.”

  
While he lit the lamp, I watched him, my emotions churning.  I felt the weight of unspoken truths, hanging heavy between us in the quiet of my parlor.  Yet Jim was still so beautiful, so strong, and I was still so drawn to him.  Like a moth to a flame, I thought; only I knew just how badly he could burn me. 

  
I’m not sure what made me do it.  Maybe I felt a bit sentimental, after singing “Shenandoah” again with Jim.  Or maybe I just had a weak moment.  But in that instant, looking at Jim, I decided to give him one of the answers he’d come so far to find.  If he really had been searching for me for the past eighteen months, he deserved at least that much. 

  
Or maybe, after all those years, I just wanted it all to be over, at long last.  Maybe I hoped he’d leave and never come back, once he realized what I was trying to tell him.

  
Whatever prompted it, I decided to give Jim the answer to the most important question he hadn’t asked me, in the form of a song.  I’d always loved games and riddles; and it pleased me to twist Jim’s answer up in one, instead of just telling him plainly.  A bit of revenge, perhaps, for the way he’d tracked me down against my will, then showed up on my doorstep, so to speak, without any warning.  I also figured shrewdly that music always put Jim in such a pleasant mood that even if he did comprehend the message hidden in the song I was about to sing, and even if it shocked him, at least he probably wouldn’t become enraged by it.  I didn’t really believe that it would surprise him, though.  I wouldn’t have left him if I wasn’t convinced that he already knew the truth about me. 

  
I didn’t really have much left to lose.  I wasn’t Jim’s partner in the Service anymore, we didn’t even live together any longer.  So if Jim already knew, then the song would do no harm because surely he’d be leaving soon anyway.  If he didn’t know, and if finding out about me shocked or hurt him, so be it.  Though I knew he hadn’t meant to, he’d already just about torn my heart out.  Then he’d tracked me down just when I was finally getting over it and making a good new life for myself apart from him, and hurt me all over again.  And though I knew he’d never meant to hurt me, and probably didn’t mean to do so now, it didn’t take away the pain of loving him so deeply for so long, and so utterly without hope.

  
_Let him take this blow, if it is one_ , I thought grimly.  _He deserves it_.

  
Thinking of blows, I lowered my head and fiddled with my bow a bit while I shot a dark glance under my lashes at Jim.  Though it seemed increasingly unlikely, I still wasn’t absolutely sure he hadn’t come after me for some kind of revenge.  But if that was his game, and he responded to the hidden message in my song by lashing out with his fists in response, then God help him.  I was done with letting Jim make me bleed – in spirit or in body.  If he tried it again, this time he’d be the one who’d be heartily sorry for it.  I closed my eyes for a minute, searching for calm.

  
Then I said, “Here’s a song I learned from an Irishman, awhile back.” 

  
That much was the plain and simple truth. 

  
The song itself was something else.

  
************************************************************************************

  
Artie fingered idly with his bow for a few minutes.  Then he lowered his head and shot me the strangest sideways look – searching, grim and sad all at once, with a hint of challenge thrown in.  I knew he was up to something, but before I could say a word, or ask him what he meant by it, he lowered his dark head and began playing the second song I’d asked for.  The words and the melody of this one were sweet but sad:

  
“ _Oh, if I were a blackbird, I’d whistle and I’d sing  
 I’d follow the vessel my true love sails in  
and in the top rigging, there I’d build my nest  
and I’d flutter my wings o’er his lily white breast.  
_

_  
He promised to take me to Donnybrook Fair  
to buy me a fine horse, a lily white mare  
and he offered to marry and stay by my side  
But then he said in the morning he’d sail with the tide.  
_

_  
My parents dislike him and would not agree,  
Saying me and my true love married can’t be  
Ah, but let them disown me, let them do what they will  
While there’s breath in my body, he’s the one I’ll love still.  
_

_  
I know not the reason why women love men  
And I know not the reason why men do love them  
For a man’s been my ruin, he’s been my downfall  
And he’s caused me to sleep within these cold gray walls.  
_

_  
Oh, if I were a blackbird, I’d whistle and I’d sing  
 I’d follow the vessel my true love sails in  
and in the top rigging, there I’d build my nest  
and I’d flutter my wings o’er his lily white breast_.”

  
The song was lovely, sweet but sad.  When it was done, Artie lowered his head and put down his violin.  The room seemed so quiet, too quiet, now that he’d stopped singing.  He’d gone completely silent.  His eyes were shadowed, and so dark that even the lamplight didn’t seem to reach them.  He didn’t say a word, and I thought I knew why.  I had to curl my hands into fists until my fingers hurt, to keep from going to him.

  
“Thanks, Artie,” I said quietly, when I could find my voice again.  “That was beautiful.”

  
And it was.  Everything Artie played was beautiful.  He was one of the most gifted musicians I’d ever had the privilege of hearing.  In his hands, any instrument sang; and his voice was lovely too, deep and true.  But that wasn’t the only thing I meant, when I said the song was beautiful.  This was the first time I’d ever gotten the feeling that he’d used his musical gifts to try to tell me something.  And what he’d said, and how he’d chosen to say it…

  
I could hardly believe it.  At the same time, it took my breath away.  It was secretive, outrageous, complex and beautiful, just like Artie.

  
“You’re welcome.”  Artie’s voice was flat and low, and he didn’t smile at my compliment.  He didn’t even look at me.  He just stared down at the floor, like he had nothing left to say.  Or like he’d already said too much.  For a second, I wondered if I’d gotten it wrong.  If I’d just imagined the message in his song, or if I was right.  Had he really meant to let me know so much?

  
I thought he had.  I was pretty sure that was why he’d given me that strange look, before he started playing that song.   

  
Silence fell between us again.  An awkward silence that begged for someone to break it.  I wanted to, but I wasn’t sure how.  I didn't want to blurt out what I thought, in case I’d misread him.  I'd be treading on really dangerous ground. 

  
Then I realized – I had to be right about the song.  There was no other way to explain that odd look before it, and Artie’s mood now.  He’d chosen that song for a reason.  I felt it in my bones.  And I was stunned by what he’d just done.

  
At long last, he’d told me the truth.  Or at least an important part of it.  I’d suspected it for some time, but now I was finally convinced that I knew why Artie had left.  I’d spent most of my adult life solving mysteries; and that song  held the clues to the mystery that’d plagued me about my partner for so long.  God, but Artie was clever and subtle.  It was so like him - to tell me his secret in a seemingly offhand way that I might not understand, under the guise of merely singing a song. 

  
I did understand him, though.  I’d been listening hard to every word he said since I’d found him again.  Hell, I’d been listening to what he _didn’t say_ , to every breath he took.  And that song… It must’ve been written for a woman to sing, because it was about hopeless love for a man.  About a love affair gone wrong, that left the girl alone and abandoned.  It was a love song with sadness, longing and even defiance in it; but no shame.

  
The song might’ve been written for a woman -- but Artie had sung it about himself.  I was sure of it.  Some of the phrases in it were so curious that they’d leapt out at me:  _I know not the reason why women love men/and I know not the reason why men do love them…_

_  
_Why would a man like Artie, who’d certainly had more than his share of women, choose to sing a song that claimed desire between men and women was somehow mysterious?  Something he couldn’t understand?

  
And this:  _For a man’s been my ruin, he’s been my downfall,/And he’s caused me to sleep within these cold gray walls_.

  
Guilt tore through me when I heard that.  I’d been convinced for a long time, that Artie had been forced to leave his home on the Wanderer because of me.  I just hadn’t understood why.  Even the line where the girl’s lover promised to take her to a horse fair to buy her a mare held meaning for me.  I always used to choose Artie’s horses for him, so we’d gone to many such sales together.

  
And there was more:   _Ah, but let them disown me, let them do what they will/While there’s breath in my body, he’s the one I’ll love still_.

  
That line had cut deeply into me.  Those words were a revelation.  God, I thought, shaken.  Oh my God…  _Artie_!  I looked at Artie’s dark head, at the sadness that lingered in his eyes, and I understood so well, it was like an arrow through my heart.

  
I’d thought I might’ve guessed at Artie’s secret already.  I was wrong.  Artie was a lover of men, an invert all right.  And even though every preacher thundered damnation for it, even though society insisted that it was wrong, and the law hung men for loving that way in most places -- Artie still wanted me, the way I’d come to want him. 

  
That part of it, I’d guessed at.  My dreams of Artie lately had hinted at it. 

  
But the most important part of the riddle, the part that took my breath, was that Artie didn’t just want me like that -- he _loved_ me. 

  
That had to be it!  That was the key that unlocked all the mysteries, all the questions Artie had left behind him.  All the puzzles that had pained and maddened me about him suddenly made sense.  If that was true, if Artie had been in love with me when we were working together, then I could guess why he’d gone off by himself on vacation sometimes.  If he'd loved me for a long time without any hope of having his affection returned, well.  A man can only stand that kind of pain for so long.  Artie must’ve had to leave, just get away from me sometimes, to stay sane.  And it had to be love, and not just lust.  Why else would Artie have stayed with me through thick and thin for all those years, when he was hurting?  He’d never said anything, had never once so much as laid a finger on me…  He’d just finally left, when it had gotten to be too much.  And why would he have fled like he did, left his work and his home and almost everything he owned behind, without saying a word to me or anyone else, if not for love? 

  
I regretted that it'd taken me so long to figure it out.  

  
My heart contracted for a moment, as I thought of his plight.  What must it have been like for Artie, being my partner all those years?  If I’d guessed right about the words of that song he’d just sung, he’d loved me steadfastly, silently but without hope, while I’d chased every skirt in sight.  Artie had always smiled, been charming and urbane, but underneath, he must’ve secretly hated it.  And he hadn’t been able to protest, couldn’t explain himself to anyone; least of all me.  He must’ve thought that no one would ever understand – especially me.  That had to be why he’d looked so stricken when I’d pushed him away after I got shot, too.  I’d always felt that had something to do with his disappearance, soon after.  That'd been just stubborn pride on my part, pushing myself to get better so I could get back out in the field.  But Artie must've seen it differently.  I realized then that he must’ve thought I’d learned his secret, or that I at least suspected him, and that it disgusted me so much that I shoved him away because I didn’t even want him to touch me.   

  
That was why Artie had left.  It had nothing to do the usual reasons that men go wrong, which is what made it so difficult to figure out.  Artie hadn’t left because of money, or power, or women.  He hadn’t done anything wrong -- unless you counted loving another man as wrong.  But sadly for us, it seemed like mostly everyone else under the sun saw that as a terrible crime.  Artie must've assumed I felt that way too.  He’d left because he was in love with me, and he must’ve thought I’d figured it out, and that I despised him for it.  Or maybe the pain of it being so hopeless had just proved too much for him, at last.  Maybe both.

  
I swallowed hard.  Jesus Christ, what a mess we’d made!  I’d been right about one thing – I’d driven Artie away, I’d just never known why.  The irony of it was, I hadn’t guessed at his feelings at all.  I’d known something was wrong before he left, but had no clue what it was, or how serious it was.  So his leaving had been a brutal shock.

  
It wasn’t until after I’d been trailing him for weeks, that I’d even wondered about Artie’s sexual bent.  Back then though, I couldn’t bring myself to believe that Artie could be a lover of men. 

  
I’d been blind, I’d been selfish…  What an idiot! I thought. 

  
I suddenly remembered Caroline Thrace again.  Something she’d said, years ago:  “I don’t mean to insult your friend.  It’s just – the way he looks at you, the way he’s always hovering around…”  She hardly knew Artie, yet she’d seen how he felt about me, way back then.  I’d wondered why she hadn’t liked him.  Now I knew.  She’d hinted that he was in love with me, but I hadn’t paid any attention.  I hadn’t even understood what she was talking about.  Then again, I hadn't really been paying much attention.  She was only a woman, after all.  I never took women seriously, unless they were some sort of threat.  Caroline had just been one more woman to me, one more dalliance.  I’d hardly thought of her again after I left her.  I'd paid dearly for that mistake.  She’d known more than I did, about my own partner.

  
_If only I’d listened to her, Artie might never have left._

_  
_Guilt and anger rose like a hot wave in my throat, choking me.  I’d never been so angry at myself before.

  
No wonder Artie had left me!  I’d deserved it.  I’d been stubborn, oblivious, foolish.  I’d put him through hell.  It was a miracle that he’d stayed with me as long as he had.  But it was almost criminal that he’d left me because he loved me, when I’d come to feel the same way. 

  
_I wish I’d felt it sooner._

_  
_Another unwelcome revelation slammed into me then.  Jesus -- maybe I had!  Maybe I had wanted him long ago -- I’d just never let myself see it.  Soon after we met, something about the way I felt for Artie had made me uneasy.  I’d put up a wall against him.  Or maybe I’d just strengthened the internal one I’d erected during the war, I’m not sure.

  
I remembered exactly when it happened, though.  I think Artie and I had only been partners for about six months, when the gang of murderers we were hunting in Arizona had ambushed me, and waved a bloody shirt in front of me that looked like Artie’s.  They’d told me it was.  Said they’d killed him.  That moment was etched into my brain.  It’d been one of the worst moments of my life.  Even now, years later, the mere thought of it brought back the remembered taste of terror, like ashes in my mouth. 

  
I’d known then, that something was wrong with how I felt about Artie.  Because as soon as I saw that shirt, I lost my head.  I’d killed two of the gang, and the rest of them had beaten me badly in retaliation before I could get away.  But I hadn’t cared.  All I’d cared about was escaping from them, so I could race back to the train.  Artie was supposed to be waiting for me there.  Artie _had_ to be there, despite what they’d said.  He was all I could think about.  Bloodied and beaten though I was, cracked ribs and all, I’d ridden there at full gallop, desperate to find him – or his body.  When I’d walked into the Wanderer’s parlor and found him there, safe and sound, I’d felt such incredible relief that I shook with it, and I’d almost thrown my arms around him. 

  
I’d lost control several times that day, and I never did that.  And it was all because of Artie.

  
I felt almost sick when I realized how far back my feelings for Artie went.  Did they really start way back then?

  
They must have.  I remembered, I’d had a nightmare later that night, a real bad one.  Again, it was about Artie.  I’d dreamed that they’d killed him like they’d threatened to.  So when I woke and somehow found Artie beside me, safe and unharmed for a second time, it’d seemed like a miracle.  I’d grabbed his hand and held onto it.  And for whatever reason, Artie had let me.  

  
But the next day, I’d never mentioned it.  I’d never talked to him about any of it.  I’d been shaken by the depth of my feelings for him, even then.  I hadn’t understood them, so I’d buried them down deep, and made sure Artie never knew about them.  I’d warned myself that Artie was getting too close, and made sure he never saw how much I cared.

  
Christ, I’d been so stupid!  It made me want to hit something.  I must’ve wanted Artie for years -- but I’d been too afraid to admit what I felt for him, how deep it went.  And not because bedding men was illegal, or because society condemned it.  I’ve never been afraid of that.  I’d been afraid of loving, after the war.  After losing my whole company at Shiloh, I’d vowed I wouldn’t care that much about anyone again. 

  
But Artie had changed all that, gotten past all my walls, become more than just my partner and friend.  All those dreams I’d had of kissing him on the trail recently had felt so right, and when I’d first laid eyes on him again, I’d felt it down to my bones:  Artie belonged with me, and I with him.  I wanted him too, more than I’d ever wanted any woman.  More than I’d ever wanted anyone in my whole life.

  
I felt like I had to say something, tell him, or I’d choke on it.  But how the hell did I tell him all that?  “Artemus --”

  
He shook his head.  “It’s late Jim, and I’m tired.  I gave you another song, like you asked.  Now let’s call it a night.”

  
“All right,” I grated, trying to hide my disappointment.  Artie had been gracious enough, it’s true.  Maybe more so than I deserved.  Still, his refusal to talk irritated me.  It was like we’d switched places somehow, in the time we’d been apart.  I was the one who used to do that to Artie.  By the time we met, I’d closed myself off to emotional attachments.  Afraid of how much Artie made me feel and terrified of letting anyone close to me again, I’d shut him out.  Refused to talk, refused to tell him what I was thinking. 

  
But I’d changed in the past few years.  All those long, lonely months while I’d searched for Artie had made me realize what I truly wanted.  The barrier I’d put up inside of me during the war had finally fallen.  Now, all those years I’d spent so close to Artie, yet so determined to keep him at arm’s length seemed wrong to me.  I’d had a great chance, but I’d wasted it.  In the past few weeks, while I’d looked for him, I’d sworn to myself that if I ever found him, I wouldn’t waste time like that again, wouldn’t hide from Artie like that again.  If there was even a chance that he wanted me too, I’d tell him the truth.  And if he didn’t want me, I’d still tell him how sorry I was that I’d made him feel like he had to leave.  I owed him at least that much.

  
But it didn’t seem likely that I’d get the chance.  Even though I’d come so far, spent so long looking for him just so I could finally say some really important things -- now Artie had become the man I used to be.  He’d turned colder.  He didn’t want to talk.  Though he’d brought me into his home, he was still keeping me at a distance.  This time, it was Artie who’d put up a wall against me.  I’d done it long enough to recognize it in him.  I just wasn’t sure what to do about it.

  
I wondered if his reasons for it were the same as mine.  I’d already figured out that Artie might be afraid of me.  The question was, why?  Was he keeping me at arm’s length to protect himself from being hurt again, just like I once had?  Or was Artie still trying to hide things from me?  Trying to keep me from finding out what his new life was like? 

  
Why would he do that?

  
I’d already thought of one possible reason:  Maybe Artie had secrets to keep here, too.  Maybe he had someone, a lover that he didn’t want me to know about.

  
The very idea of that was like a knife in my gut.  But that didn’t mean it wasn’t true.  Though Artie wasn’t married and I’d seen no signs that a woman shared his house, that didn’t mean one didn’t share his bed – or that he wasn’t serious about one.  Even if Artie was an invert as I suspected, it didn’t change the fact that he’d always slept with women, too.  And now that he’d bought a house and seemed to have settled here, marrying would be the conventional thing to do…

  
_Artie would never do that_ , I thought.  _He’d never marry, would never be content with a staid, conventional life_ —

  
Are you so sure? He almost married Lily Fortune once, didn’t he?   

  
Once fear had kept me silent.  Now it drove me to speak.  Because what if Artie hadn’t found someone else?  What if he was still free, and what if he’d been lonely since he left, as terribly lonely as I’d been? 

  
Maybe, just maybe, fate had given me a second chance.  This time, I wouldn’t waste it.  I meant to grab Artie with both hands if he’d let me, and never let go.

  
I had so much to tell him, so many things to say that the need gripped me like a fever.  I burned to tell him what I’d finally figured out about him, and about myself.  That I’d heard what he was trying to tell me, with that song.  I longed to grab Artie and force him to listen.  I’m sorry, I wanted to say.  Sorry I was so blind for all those years.  Sorry I didn’t see who you really are, that I didn’t talk to you enough, that I never realized…

  
I tried again.  “Artie, I –”

  
But Artie was having none of it.  He got to his feet with a jerk, as if he couldn’t bear to hear one more word from me.  He’d tensed up again, I could see it.  “Leave it _be_ , James!” he said gruffly, just this side of angry.  “Whatever you have to say to me, it’ll wait till morning.”

  
Damn it!  I was so frustrated, I wanted to push it.  Grab Artie and demand that he talk to me _now_.  But I didn’t dare.  I wasn’t sure where our friendship stood anymore.  Trying to browbeat Artie seemed a surefire way to kill whatever was left of it.  I remembered the look on Artie’s face when he first saw me.  How dark it was, how he’d turned pale with shock and backed away from me. 

  
I balled my hands into fists and forced my emotions back with an effort.  _Take care_ , I warned myself.  _You’re only here on sufferance_.   Despite the way he’d sung with me, I had the feeling Artie didn’t even really want me in his house.  If I got him angry, he could easily decide to kick me out.  It didn’t matter how impatient I was, I couldn’t let that happen.  I’d only just found Artie again, after so long.  I’d do anything rather than lose him again. 

  
I’d even let him hold me at arm’s length.

  
For now.

  
Swallowing down my frustration, I forced a smile somehow.  “All right.  Guess I could use some sleep.”

  
Artie gave me a look, like he couldn’t quite believe I’d give in so easily.  Once, I wouldn’t have.  But I was through being stupid, being careless with the one person who meant more to me than anything.  I wasn’t going to argue with him about such a small thing.  I had too much to say to him, and I’d come too far to say it.  From here on out, what Artie wanted, Artie got -- even if it half killed me.  At least that way I might get a little more time with him, before he asked me to move on.

  
I told myself bleakly that might be all I would get.  And maybe that was all that I could rightfully expect from Artie now, after the way I’d treated him.  Just time enough to tell him how sorry I was for driving him away, before he told me to go. 

  
I tried to convince myself that that would be enough.

 

  
As Artie turned to take the lamp down, I looked over at him.  I’d been trying hard not to stare, but after nearly two years of being alone, I had no compunction about drinking him in while his back was turned.  So when he picked up the lamp I looked at him greedily, soaking in every detail.  His hair was longer in the back now.  It curled about his ears, and spilled down over his collar in dark waves that caught the firelight.  I saw some grey strands in it too now, at his temples.  They looked good on him, made him look distinguished.  He looked a little thinner than I remembered, and that looked good on him too.  His hands were still beautiful, with long, slender fingers, not blunt, scarred and callused like mine.  Such gentle, talented hands….

  
Memories rose up and filled my head, of all the times Artie’s hands had steadied me, touched me, cared for me -- saved me. 

  
My throat went dry just thinking of that, just looking at him.  Artie was still tall and strong, with those dark eyes and broad shoulders that I’d know anywhere.  _My partner_ , I thought, and the words made me feel good and bad at the same time.  Because Artie was that to me, he always would be.  Yet he wasn’t acting like _he_ thought he was.  Not anymore.  I wasn’t even really sure if he believed we were still friends.

  
And that was my fault, and I knew it. “Artie.”

  
He half-turned in surprise, the lamp dangling from his right hand.  “Yes?”

  
I had a thousand things to say to him; but I couldn’t make the words come.  Artie looked like such a mystery in the lamplight:  familiar and beloved, yet different somehow.  The lamp cast harsh shadows on his face, made him look older and more somber.  Almost like a stranger.  But whoever he was, whoever he’d become while we were apart, it didn’t matter.  Desire surged through me, making me ache, stealing my breath.  Ever since I’d first laid eyes on him again, I’d felt a driving hunger to touch him.  To run my fingers over his whole body, every inch of him, and prove to myself that all those awful dreams I’d had of him dying while I’d searched for him weren’t true.

  
I’d been reining myself in for so long, I couldn’t stand it anymore; so I let that hunger loose.  Before I knew it, I was moving.  Before Artie could speak or say anything to stop me, I pressed close enough to touch him, the way I’d been longing to.  Half crazy with desire, I put my hands on his shoulders.  _Almost two years_ , I thought, shaking with the sheer impossibility of it.  _It’s been almost two years since I touched you_ …

  
It didn’t seem possible.  I felt almost like a man worshipping in church, when I finally laid my hands on him.  I could feel Artie’s warmth, rising up through the thin barrier of his shirt.  His strength, that I’d always depended on.  Touching him, I felt like my feet were finally firmly on the ground, for the first time in a long time.  But also like I was about to fly away.  Having my hands on him at last made me feel lightheaded, more excited than I’d felt the last time I thrust into a woman.  My palms, my fingers hummed with excitement, just from that one innocent touch.  My whole body fizzed with it.

  
Artie’s head tilted a little, his dark eyes widening in surprise.  He stared at me quizzically, but at least he didn’t push me away.

  
“Artemus,” I croaked.  My voice sounded rusty.  My throat had gone dry, and my heart beat frantically against my ribs.   But I didn’t care.  I was done talking; and he still wasn’t close enough to suit me.  I pulled Artie into my arms and held him so tight that I could feel his heart beating too.  God – the feel of him!  The heat of his big, solid body, that I remembered so well, and that I’d been dreaming of for months.  Artie stood stiffly in my arms, but I didn’t mind.  Holding him still felt better than anything else had, since the day he left.  Artie was warm, so warm, and he smelled so damn good…  His scent, the feel of him, so familiar, so beloved, made me shake.  For the first time in nearly two years, I didn’t feel alone. 

  
Part of me whispered that I should be embarrassed clinging to him like this, like some lovestruck female.  I ignored it.  “Artie,” I whispered.  Pierced by sensation, I held on like a drowning man, unable to let him go. 

  
For a moment, Artie didn’t respond.  Then at long last, he sighed and the tension in his body melted away.  He put down the lamp and his arms curled around me slowly.  He lowered his head and rested his cheek on my hair, welcoming me instead of just enduring my embrace.  “James my boy,” he whispered back, so deep and soft that I almost couldn’t make out the words.

  
But I heard him, and I had to close my eyes at the tenderness in his voice.  It touched me deep inside, in a place no one else ever could.  _James my boy_ …  It’d been so long since he’d called me that, I’d sometimes wondered if I’d ever hear that endearment again.  For the first time since we’d met up again, I felt there was hope for us. 

  
My head lay on Artie’s shoulder.  I ached to kiss him, but I knew better.  My desire was so strong, though, that I couldn’t stay still.  I barely managed not to moan out loud, with the pleasure of touching him after so long, and hearing him call me by his favorite pet name again.  I moved just a little, rubbing my cheek into the warmth of his shirt, pressing it desperately into the hollow of his neck.  I felt Artie’s hands move a little on my back, in a tiny, tentative caress.  That little answering touch pierced my heart.  It'd been so long since anyone had touched me like this – so long, that I’d almost forgotten what tenderness felt like.  No one had ever touched me like Artie did.  Gently, so gently, like I was precious to him – like he loved me. 

  
I suddenly realized, Artie had always touched me this way.  Right from the start.  I’d just missed it, because I hadn’t wanted to see it.  I tried to stay silent, but my eyes blurred with tears.  Before I knew it, I rasped, “I missed you.”

  
Artie’s hands stilled on my back, and I knew he’d heard me.  For a long moment, he didn’t say anything.  Then finally, he breathed, “I missed you too, James.” 

  
I had to set my jaw against the hope that surged in me, a hope so strong it was painful.  Was it possible that he’d forgiven me?  That he would take me back, let me into his new life here?  I had to shut my eyes again, or I might’ve wept into Artie’s shirt like a child.  I tightened my grip on him, but he didn’t protest.  In fact, for a moment, I could’ve sworn that he swayed just a little, almost as if he were rocking me in his arms.

  
Too late, I realized I was growing hard against Artie’s thigh.  Oh God.  I cursed myself, fearing Artie’s reaction, but I couldn’t stop my body’s response to his nearness.  I squeezed my eyes shut even tighter and tried desperately to think of something awful, to quell my arousal.  It didn’t work.  I’d been alone for so long.  Wrapped up so tightly in Artie’s arms, feeling his heart beating under my cheek, smelling his scent, feeling his warmth – he filled my whole world.  I had everything I’d ever wanted, held fast in my arms again.  Even a man half-dead would’ve responded to that; and I was fitter than I’d ever been.  I tried to pull away from him a bit, but our embrace had become so tight that I couldn’t do it without him noticing.

  
I knew the instant Artie realized what was happening.  He pulled away, looking down.  “What the --”  He must’ve seen the obvious bulge in my pants.  He blinked, his eyes widening in what seemed like shock. 

  
Embarrassed though I was, my desire was stronger.  I reached for him blindly anyway, my heart beating fast, but Artie was too quick for me.  He stepped back so fast that I couldn’t catch hold of him again.  His face turned cold and he waited, deliberately out of reach, until I dropped my hands.

  
“Come on, Jim,” he said curtly.  All the warmth had fled from his eyes.  His shoulders looked tight, almost rigid, and he turned away.  “I’ll show you to your room.”  His distant tone and turned back made it plain that I’d be spending the night there alone.

  
Damn it!  I set my jaw so hard, my teeth almost cracked.  I’ve never been a patient man, and we’d been close, so close!  I’d thrown Artie off balance with that unexpected embrace, I knew it.  And he’d done more than just return it.  He’d called me ‘James my boy’, and said that he’d missed me too…  If I hadn’t held onto him for so long, who knows – Artie might’ve even kissed me.  But I’d spoiled it by jumping the gun.  I’d gotten aroused like a green, overeager lad, and spooked him.  I cursed my own lack of self control.  The one little taste I’d had of being close to Artie again had only made me hungry for more. 

  
As I followed Artie down the hall, I considered pushing it still further, and trying to seduce him again when we got to whatever room he’d decided to put me in.  Once, I would’ve done it.  If this had happened on the Wanderer, back when we were still partners...  That James West would’ve done it without hesitation.

  
But I wasn’t that man anymore.  I lacked that kind of absolute confidence now.  Fate had knocked it out of me, since I’d lost Artie.

  
Besides -- that James West hadn’t done it either, I reminded myself bleakly.  Regret twisted inside of me.  He’d had both the confidence and Artie’s love, if he’d only known it.  He’d had every chance to seduce Artie back then, but he’d been blind.  He’d put up a wall, and kept his best friend at arm’s length while he consorted with every pretty woman who came along.  He’d fucked whores who’d meant nothing, loose women whose faces he couldn’t even remember afterwards, when the man who meant everything to him had been right beside him, believing that he didn’t care. 

  
I clenched my hands so tightly that my fingers ached.  The man I used to be was an idiot.  Selfish, arrogant, blind.  Worse, I’d hurt Artie.  Hurt him to the point where he’d felt he had no other choice but to leave without a word.

  
I was glad I wasn’t that James West anymore.  He’d messed everything up and parted us, at such a terrible cost.  Both Artie and I had lost almost everything -- both work and a home that we loved, and our friendship – all because of who I used to be.

  
Remembering the awful day Artie had left me doused the fire in my groin like a bucket of ice water.  Good sense chimed in then too, warning me that it was too soon to throw myself at him.  Hell, there might never be a good time for that, now.  After what I’d done to him, I was lucky that Artie had even let me stay with him.  I thought of the coldness on his face, in his eyes after he’d seen my arousal.  God only knew what he was thinking, since I hadn’t had a chance to explain anything to him yet.  Artie was still really angry with me.  Maybe he had been for years.

  
And I deserved it.

  
Disgusted with the way I’d messed things up between us again, I kept my hands at my sides, and didn’t try to touch Artie again.  I wasn’t that stupid, that blind anymore.  Besides, I was in Artie’s domain now.  He could still throw me out if I displeased him; and I just had.

  
I’d never been a patient man.  But for the first time in my life, I was going to force myself to be, for Artie.  I’d have to back off, and let it go at that – for now.

  
Stifling a sigh, I followed Artie on down the hall.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Anyone who's reading this, thanks for not giving up out of terror at the sheer length of it. : ) One more story in the series, I think.


End file.
